Cry Me Tears of Fire
by pensive puddles
Summary: Deciding to stay at Hogwarts for Christmas for the first time, Draco and Hermione slowly see that they might not be as different from the each other as they once thought to believe. Dark Magic tends to bring people closer than they expect, A LOT closer
1. Playing with Fire

**Cry Me Tears of Fire**

By Pensive Puddles

Draco sat back into his chair and looked around the Great Hall. This was going to be his first Christmas at Hogwarts. Usually, he persuaded his father and mother to invite him home for Christmas, not that going home was a large thrill.

He didn't come from an unloving family. Rather, his home was structured more for business then for children and youth. It was cold and morbid. It was mature and demanded perfection. It abhorred anything less than that. Sure, his family would put up a Christmas tree, but they never really put the Christmas tree up and decorated it together. He didn't even know that families _did_ that until he visited Blaise's home and helped participate in decorating the tree and 'decking the halls with balls of holly'.

No, the House Elves did all the decorating in his manor. And there were never bright, flashy warm colors. It was dark colors, blue, green, and occasionally silver. Nothing red, nothing gold…traditional Slytherin colors ran deeper than just in Hogwarts. He sometimes wondered what his house would look like if his family gathered around the hearth and he and his parents would drink hot drinks and laugh and talk and open presents.

Draco chortled coldly at the ghastly thought. His father clapping him on the back and telling him how proud he is of him. Or his mother fawning over him, playing with his hair, asking repeatedly if he really wants to go back to school, there always were private tutors. Draco shook his head at the thought. Those things only happened in movies, not in real life, especially his life.

Giggling grated his ears. He hated giggling. It made his ears bleed. He had to grind his teeth together to keep himself cool. He could only wait for the sound to pass and then when silence came, he'd relax. His curiosity did not stop him from looking, though.

He took a steely glance at the students entering. What was so damn funny? He scowled. _Potter_ surrounded by all his friends and adoring fans, he should have known. If Potter wouldn't let himself be flattered like that, Snape wouldn't pick on him so often. No, the Golden Boy had to be the center of attention, had to be famous.

Draco watched as Harry mumbled something into the group of people who leaned eagerly forward to hear what he was saying and then they burst apart, laughing hysterically and holding their sides. And those who were not part of the group leaned closer and cast a wishful look, wishing that they could be part of Potter's wonderful clique. The snickering continued and suddenly, Draco noticed that the group's eyes were staring more at him than any other person or thing in the room. He tried not to fidget under the multitude of gazes that seemed to be scrutinizing him for every last detail. Merlin, he hated being looked at like that, as if _he_ were a filthy Mudblood when the real Mudblood was skulking in their own presence! The group sat down and the glances averted back at their 'glorious hero', Potter. It made Draco sick.

Draco grabbed his lighter, lit it and made the fire play along his hand, dancing and transforming into a ball that slithered into a seductive lady that danced suggestively and swung her hair around wildly. He made it dance faster and faster until the fire lady collapsed in a flaming heap in his palm. He crushed her into his hand and the fire shot out from the openings in his hand, making a quiet, high-pitched shriek of a dying animal. He opened his palm again and the fire was black, with the body of a fairy that had been beaten and destroyed. Dark wings were placed perfectly into its small back, but instead of being whole and complete, holes were ripped randomly in them and all along the edges, it appeared as if they'd been fringed. Bright red eyes gleamed morbidly up at him and he smirked. Blowing it, he extinguished the dark fairy. And with that single blow, he blew away his anger.

Merlin, it felt so good to practice Dark Magic. He didn't know how he had survived without it before her had taught himself it.

Potter sat down amongst his sea of fans and smiled at everyone. Mr. Congeniality was he to everyone, everyone except the Slytherins. Potter had no idea how he effect Draco's house. They weren't scared of him, but rather intimidated. They, the Slytherins had to go to school with the enemy. They had to walk down the same hall with the enemy, share classes with the enemy, the enemy that their parents had whispered horrible things about in their ears since the fall of the Dark Lord. And the Dark Lord had risen, meaning they were now his ears to Potter's whereabouts, actions and words. Pawns, that's what Slytherins were. Merlin, was there every a point to being alive when they were basically told when to breathe and not to breathe?

A soft tone scolded Potter, causing laughter at the action. Draco couldn't help but look up at her; he was finding that he had a habit of looking at her rather than at Potter or Weasley. It was always her. He didn' t know why either. She was just…ordinary. And maybe that was why. Her face tried to imitate a mother who had just caught the child sneaking a cookie out of the cookie jar, but her warm eyes took out any sting or malice in those words. She had a hard time making believable lies.

No, that wasn't true. She could act. There was that one time where she had made Umbridge follow her into the Forbidden Forest. Crafty girl, rather Slytherinish, and Salazar be cursed, he had actually been proud of her.

OK, so maybe proud was too strong of a word. He respected her, slightly, not a whole lot, but he did start to respect her, admire her. That was the word: admire. He admired how she could act like that. She really was two faced, which brought him to always ask, what _was_ her true face? Was this face, this loyal-even-to-death best friend of Potter, was this just something that she pretended to be? Was there another side to her?

He knew that Granger was not always what people made her out to be. She wasn't the example of innocence. She had been in the Restricted Section more than once, looking up the most dangerous and unspeakable curses that rested in the pages of those historic books. He should know; he had been there most of the times she was there, hiding under his own personal invisible coat. And had anyone else seen her in a flimsy tang top before? He silently hoped he was the only person who had the opportunity to see her bare shoulders.

It would sound strange to talk about Granger's shoulders as a treat, as if seeing them was like seeing a girl strut around completely in the buff. But remember, Granger was a very modest girl. Her skirt stayed the required length. It never rose higher than what it should be, it never had any charm that would make it appear longer to the Professor's eye, but shorter to any horny male. Her shirt was always buttoned up, and if a button or two were undone, there was always another shirt underneath. Her tie was never out of line. She never let the male's eyes rake over her and undress her with his eyes. If he did, he'd have to guess what she looked like. She never wore tight clothes, or form fitting. She just wore clothes that were comfortable for her.

And Draco was rather intrigued with her attitude towards herself. She was ordinary, yet completely unique. She was nothing like any of the other girls in the school. To the majority of the female population, life for them was just a mad race determining who could be considered the prettiest in the whole school. And so they would wear clothes that would try and catch an eye or two, or paint their faces with more make up to define their features to get guys to comment on it. And they would always chatter and flirt and bat their eyelashes, trying desperately for the male to sit closer to her or give her more glances than the rest. It was all a game, a fierce game that they tended to play until they were old and wrinkled and realized that they had just wasted their whole life worrying about petty things like looks and acceptance, all the while losing their true selves, their true character and personality. It was all a sham, a masquerade. Their make-up, their mask. Their clothes, the character they wanted to play. Their words, a beautiful script ripped and edited and improvised poorly. And those beautiful words written so clearly and simply on the script were easily discarded because it wasn't what the boys wanted to hear. And what the boys wanted was what the boys would get.

But _she_ never wore a mask. _She_ never tried to be someone else. And _she_ didn't even have a script. She spoke from the heart. She certainly was unique.

A pale, freckled, red haired freak sat next to her and draped an arm around her shoulder, then preceded to plant a large, wet kiss on her cheek. She blushed darkly, eyes glowing in embarrassment and pleasure of such treatment. He hugged her closer. They had only being going out since the end of the summer. How could she let herself be treated like that? Like some prize when she was so much more? He never a saw her have her way with him, kiss him when she wanted to. No, she just let herself be toyed with, played with. It angered him how that red headed freak could take advantage of such a modest girl.

Draco wasn't kind hearted. He was considered a player, not remembering names of the girls he slept with and not caring if he broke their hearts. He'd do as many as he could. He'd do girls who'd recently broken up. He was their crying shoulder. He'd mess with girls who still had boyfriends. He was the wedge between a good relationship, the tester of loyalty. He'd never do it if they asked him; he always chose. But he never messed with girls like Granger. No…they were too clean to get dirty, and he knew it would only make him feel guilty, not the other way around as he was accustomed too. Besides, all his girls were willing to take her shirt off if she received a little more attention than other girls, had the word spread around so that she would be recognized. But Granger…

Draco took out his lighter again. It was habit now. It helped him express his anger or irritation. When he was younger, he used to smoke to ease his fury. He had always thought it to be a disgusting habit, but hell, everyone else was doing it. People would do it at all the parities; it seemed like the norm to see twelve year olds get drunk and smoke themselves a pack or two senseless. His parents would smoke. Their friends would smoke. It seemed like the cool, natural thing to do and so he dumbly added his name to the list of those who smoked because they had nothing else to do.

He couldn't smoke anymore. It nearly took his position on the Quidditch team away. He used to do two packs a day, smoking while he dressed, during break, before and after every meal, during trips to the bathroom, before going to bed, after a shag in a unused corridors…constantly smoking, constantly lighting. Even while believing that he was immune to anything harmful, he still found himself flat on his back after falling off his broom, falling from such a great height that the nurse wondered how he hadn't died.

He remembered that practice perfectly. He had seen the Snitch and he was about to go dive after it on his new Lightening Bolt 3000 when he couldn't catch his breath. He coughed and choked. He coughed so hard he felt as if he'd cough up his stomach. Weak and dizzy, he forgot which side was up and he fell off his broom, letting gravity have its way. He blacked out on the way down. He had somehow slipped out of the darkness for a painful short time and he remembered his peers looking over him and calling for the nurse.

It was horrible feeling, not being able to breathe. He had made such horrible noises, trying to suck in at least one sweet breath of air. Deep breathes were hard to take, and short, quick breaths that left him light headed seemed to be the only way, but even that appeared to be unhelpful when it felt as if he wasn't breathing anything in.

He passed out.

They had cleared his lungs. Snape had made a potion that would help ease the pain and deteriorate the tar that coated the inside of his lungs. No more smoking for him. And so he resorted to other ways to lighting up.

It was like a drug. It entertained him and it gave him an adrenaline rush, not to mention leaving him slightly giddy. Dark Magic had a habit of draining energy out of the user.

The lighter clicked two times and a yellow flame spluttered to life and slithered around his arm around. He played with it.

"There he goes again!"

"Wow! That's so cool!"

"I've been studying how to do that."

"Phish, I _highly doubt_ you're getting far. That's Dark Magic. Only advanced wizards know how to control one of the four elements," contradicted one of the voices. Voices started whispering in awe at the new information.

It wasn't something new to see Draco play around with his Dark Magic tricks. He'd openly flaunt his art in front of the younger years, flirting with the young, innocent girls by making fire fairies that would flicker and give them short, sharp, burning kisses on their cheeks. Then the kisses would cool as quickly as they came and the girls would beg to be kissed again, to feel the fairies again. It was, however, odd to see him actually use his powers in public.

_"Draco, I **highly** recommend that you stop your shenanigans and put your lighter away. Don't boast your powers,"_ Snape snapped telepathically. Draco glared defiantly over at the Head of the Slytherin's. Draco stared him down, steely gray against thick black. It was a never-ending battle. Narrowing his eyes, he held his palm before his Professor and slowly brought his fingers together. The fire nymph struggled and choked and Draco blew harshly. It extinguished with a horrified look in its fiery face.

_"Happy?"_ Draco responded telepathically. Snape gave one last fierce, warning glare and returned to talking with his colleagues. He and Snape had taken after school lessons to expand Draco's magic skills after Draco showed true magical potential that exceed everyone else in school. Now he had mastered the art of being telepathic.

Draco rolled his eyes. "Old man made you quit?" Blaise quipped, taking one of the sugar cookies laid on the table and shoving it into his mouth.

"Shut up, Blaise," Draco grumbled. Blaise shrugged.

"So, what are you doing for the holidays? Going home?" He asked, not really paying attention to the glances Draco shot him, which many would interpret as shut-up-now-and-I-won't-hex-you-into-oblivion.

Draco remained silent. Blaise continued on anyway, "You can come stay with us again, if you want."

"I'm staying here for Christmas. I need to catch up on some work," Draco replied coolly.

Blaise stopped eating and stared long and hard at his friend. "Draco, this is going to get you sick again."

"I'm not going to get sick," he snapped angrily, his pride of his power wounded, and didn't really want to remember past experiences. "I'm stronger now," he added quietly, more to give himself assurance than for Blaise.

"No you're not. So you can do a few more neat tricks; you still can't control it, Draco. You're not strong enough to control any of the four elements yet," Blaise warned.

"Blaise!" Draco growled warningly. His clenched fists started to glow. He was angry now. He hated being told he was weak. Damn it! He got that enough from his father! He didn't need Blaise telling him he was weak as well. He slammed his hand down hard against the table, trying to vent his anger on the table. Everyone flinched at the sound. All but Blaise and Draco. Blaise, unfazed by the childish act, looked with boredom at the pale hand of his friend.

Draco glowered at his hand and pressed his lips as if in pain. He removed his hand. A burnt mark of his hand was burnt crisply into the tablecloth. "You can't even control your temper," Blaise scolded softly, not wanting to infuriate Draco again. "How are you supposed to control an Element?"

Draco didn't speak. Grabbing some of the cloth napkins, he poured cold water onto them and wrapped his burnt and blistered hands with the cold cloth. Blaise was already soaking some other clean clothes with cold water, so that he could switch the short term bandages that would slightly ease the burning pain. "It appears," he whispered quietly so that only Draco could hear him, "we're being watched."

Draco looked up and saw dark brown eyes staring at him in a mixture of curiosity, and shock and some other motion that Draco couldn't quite place. He glared with pure malice at those brown eyes. Startled at the change of atmosphere, the brown eyes hardened and glared back just as ruthlessly. But Draco knew the curiosity still lurked inside her.

"Damn it, you sure did a number on yourself," Blaise remarked, turning the burnt palm upward. Draco growled and snatched his hand away as Blaise placed some Aloe on his hands. Ever since he had know Draco possessed the ability to use the power of an Element, Blaise had picked up the habit of carry a small tube of Aloe with him just in case Draco had sudden outbursts of uncontrollable anger such as this.

"I'll take care of it," Draco snarled and stood from the table. He ignored the eyes that looked at their idol of their House. He glided away. He was used to eyes burning into his back and so he thought nothing of it. However, there were one pair of eyes that he could feel scorching him alive, and he quickened his steps to get out of their view. Sighing, he walked to the Hospital Wing.

Merlin, he certainly had lost control of himself back there. He was becoming too obvious with his magic. True, he had done it under the table and had made sure that tall people sat around him to shield him from unwanted gazes. But now and then, curious eyes would peak through the cracks. He'd be punished soon for boasting his Dark power. He could already feel the pain well inside his bowels. Merlin, this one would really hurt. He had to stop and crouch on the ground, leaning forward and trying to ease the pain in his abdomen.

He started to cough, reaching up to cover his mouth. He tried to breathe and it was harder to control himself. It was as soot was grouping and sticking to the inside of his lungs, clogging his air pipes. He coughed violently, like a long time smoker, and it felt as if he'd never stop coughing. The back of his throat felt as if they were being clawed with sharp nails, and his lungs felt as if metal bands were clasping tighter and tighter the more he struggled to breathe, like one of those Chinese finger gadgets. He gasped for breath and finally, after an excruciating moment, he could breathe and it felt as if nothing had happened. He rubbed his hand over his mouth and looked down to see a mixture of blood and soot. He got up and looked down at his hands. The pale skin was perfect and flawless again. No scar or trace could be detected on his palms that gave away any hint that they had second degree burning moments before.

Dusting himself off, he straightened himself up. He was exhausted. He walked to his dormitory and gratefully crawled into his large bed. Lying on his back, he stared with blurry eyes at one of the symbols of the four elements that was engraved in his canopy bed.

"Damn you, Lucius, for doing this to me," he cursed and fell into a dark sleep.

* * *

**A/N**: Alrighty then! Sorry, but I just needed something angsty. Well, I don't know if that was exactly angsty, but it sure made me feel good writing it! Of course, maybe not as dark as my other fics. What can I saw? I was born for darkness…Anyway, this is a working progress…I actually have NO idea what the plot is going to be, which is really odd considering I usually plan what I'm going to write before I write it. Ah, there's a first for everything I suppose.

Anyhow, if you'd just be an awesome person, drop me a little review, signed or anonymous, I don't care. Because I don't believe in flaming people when they flame you because a review is the way the reader expressed himself or herself on what they thought of the fic. Thus, the author has NO right to tell the person to back off when the author asked for their opinion. Ok, so if you're one of those people who get nervous of the author feeling hurt of being flamed, believe me, I'm not one of those people who'll hunt you down and gut you like a fish. Beside, you're really going to have to try hard to get me to feel hurt by what you said. So write away! Express your hatred for my work! I **_dare_** you! Review, tough shot, and make the computer burst into flames when I read it…like a Howler…

If you can't tell, I love reviews. By the way, if you want a more romantic, comedy, angst, action/adventure fic, check out this other story I have up called _The Dragonstar Quest_. Personally, I don't find it that horrible, just really long. Anyway, if your one of those computer junkies like me who love to read stuff that seem to never end, you'll like that fic, believe me…


	2. A Little Fun

**Cry Me Tears of Fire**

By Pensive Puddles

_"Lucius! It's your own son!" a deep voice cried in outrage, his eyes flickering back and forth between Malfoy and Draco._

_"Zabini, I know he's my son. And I know when he's ready, and he is ready," Lucius snapped, casting cold eyes on his son, he asked just for show, "You're ready, aren't you son?"_

_Draco did not answer. Lucius gave him a quick warning glare that no one else caught and Draco nodded, "Yes, Father." He stood firmly on his two feet, trying to give the appearance that he could handle whatever he would have to face. He looked around the room arrogantly and proudly, just like his father._

_He wouldn't be standing for long…_

_Screams (his screams? He didn't know), dark tunnels and fire, lots and lots of fire. Too much power to take in, too much to contain in one body. Merlin, it felt as if he was being ripped in all directions. His heart felt as if it would burst and it thundered painfully in his ears. And suddenly, it was over. He couldn't show weakness, not when so much depended on him. His legs trembled fiercely, throbbing in an indescribable feeling. He feel to his knees and bowed his head, pretending that he had fallen to bow to his Master when really his legs couldn't hold him any longer. He could feel his father's glare behind his back. "Are you proud of me yet, father?" Draco wanted so desperately to ask. He knew that his father would never answer that one question Draco had been wanting to ask all his young life._

_Voldemorte's slithery head leaned down and whispered words in his ear, scaly words that hissed and tickled his ears unpleasantly. "Draco, my heir, my ultimate weapon in destroying Harry Potter!"_

_Books are scattered around the room and Draco is lying in a naked heap in the middle of the floor, surrounded by candles and Death Eaters that are chanting. The shame, the humiliation of being watched, Merlin he wanted to cry. All the followers, watching but never ceasing in their chanting, he could feel their eyes scanning his body. He had never felt so self-conscience in his life before. A woman comes, dressed in gossamer clothes that do not make the mind wonder. She reveals all. How can she not feel shame when he feels disgusting and filthy?_

_She comes to him and embraces him. Her eyes hold comfort, the only thing that stops his stomach from churning for moment. He's seen her once or twice in his life. She was always so kind, so sweet, and yet dark. She knew things beyond her years, and Draco feels sorry for her because it doesn't feel right. She's deprived of being a person, deprived of a free life, just like him. "It'll be over soon," she whispers comfortingly as she beings kissing him and the chants grow louder._

_They yell. She screams and she's dead. She's looking up at him in relief, her last goodbye in gratitude, as if her whole purpose in life was to have sex with the heir of Voldemort and then die. Merlin, help him keep steady, he feels sick. The chants are gone. They've stopped. Hungry eyes, greedy at the sight before them never cease their staring. Stop, please make them stop looking; he feels so unclean._

_He's alone in the room. The stench of death still hangs in the air. He's cold and alone and he feels so used, raped. He's never felt this way before. Something scrambles in the corner and fear rises in his stomach. He trembles. It's coming; he can feel it. Oh Merlin, he can hear it coming closer and closer. Its steps are nothing like he's ever heard before. It breathes, yet it does not. It groans, yet makes no sound. What's going on? He's going crazy, that's the only explanation._

_He can't breathe. A heavy weight is pressed against his chest and incoherent murmuring mutters darkly in his ears. It sounds horrible, so evil. No! He can't be devoured like it's threatening to do, predicating to do. He tries to fight but his magic is so weak compared to the dark demon. He doesn't know how to fight. He has no wand. He cannot do wandless magic, or any that will make a difference. His fear drives him and he tries to get it away. It seems to be feeding off of his fear. _

_And then the darkness is gone and he's surrounded in pure fire, in the heart of the flame. He's going to die; he knows it; he's in hell; that's the only explanation._

Draco woke up in a cold sweat, only realizing that he was screaming when it echoed loudly in his ears. He looked around wildly. _Where the hell am I?_ He struggled out of his sheets that he found himself tangled in and he stumbled down to the bathroom. It was dead silent. The fire in the Common Room had died down into soft ambers, barely giving any light or warmth. Candles were lit high up against the wall, leading a trail to the bathroom. He stumbled wildly for it and quickly locked the door behind him.

He jumped into the shower, clothes and all. Turning the water to pure cold, he gasped painfully as the water sliced against his skin and soaked his clothes. So cold…it was stopping the hot throbbing in his head though, thus he refused to turn it down or turn the hot water on.

_Merlin, get these pictures out of my head, out of my mind!_ he screams. He couldn't stand seeing her face, over and over again. Her eyes, brown and warm and full of life, he could still see them widen and a flash with the realization that she was going to die before she collapsed on the floor, dead.

He could still feel her against his skin. Her purity, still burning against him. He ripped of his clothes savagely and turned the water to hot. The room steamed at the rapid change of water temperature and the mirrors quickly became fogged. Draco scrubbed at his skin, rubbing his skin so hard that it turned a nasty shade of pink. He was glad for the shower; it hid his tears. _Go away, go away, go away!_ he screamed in his head.

The chanting, the screaming, the Dark Lord's voice…and his father just watching the procedure without coming to his son's defense, it never left his mind. And her eyes, beautiful brown eyes widening like a young, innocent child only to close shortly after. Her body, he could still feel her sweaty, petite body in his hands. He could still feel her body go sickeningly limp and fall backwards and hit the ground with a loud, lifeless thump.

He collapsed on the floor, losing his balance. The memories…the dreams…the nightmares…would they ever cease? He didn't know how long he stayed like that, huddled in the shower room with the water beating mercilessly on his back. All he knew was that he was back in bed later with his skin glowing a candy pink. He collapsed back into darkness and woke up without any recollection of any of his disturbing dreams or his midnight shower.

"You look like shit," Blaise commented, plopping down into the seat next to Draco and grabbed a slice of toast.

Draco didn't reply. He _felt_ like shit. He hadn't slept well. He remember he had kept waking up to look around the room, listen to the snores from the other boys, and then falling back into another troublesome darkness only to wake up and repeat the whole process again. Merlin, what was wrong with him? He just felt so…weak. And wizards who wanted to control any of the Four Elements had to be strong at all times. They had to be, or else the outcome could be disastrous.

"Draco, you didn't stop by my room last night. I waited for you," Pansy pouted, taking a seat on the other side of him. She flipped her blond hair over her shoulder and looked at him with large, sad blue eyes. The infamous puppy-dog look Pansy used to get boys to sleep with her always made the males go weak in the knees and follow her where ever she led them. It never did work on Draco, unfortunately for her. She was the walking, talking, Siren that many girls gossiped and complained about because she would take any guy that she pleased. She was like Draco. Then again, he had trained her to be like him. She followed him down his dark path. Now she broke hearts and got whatever she wanted, by any means, as long as she benefited from it and felt no guilt in the end, just like Draco.

"I didn't feel to well," Draco remarked. Pansy only nodded and leaned in for a kiss. Draco absently kissed her lightly on the lips and rubbed his hand in a comforting gesture on her leg. Their kisses meant nothing to each other. They were empty and just felt like skin pressing against skin, but they still found comfort in each other. They grew up in like homes, rather cold and mature. Their mothers were always both off at parties or on shopping sprees and their fathers were always attending Dark Lord meetings and doing whatever he bided.

Maybe comfort was too strong of a word. It wasn't comfort; it was more like acknowledgment. It was the knowledge that they were still there. For Pansy, no matter how many guys she played with, she still ended up crawling into Draco's bed right after her previous lay. However, Draco wasn't quite as depending. If he had nothing else to do or wasn't interested in any other girl, he flirted with her and played the game she always loved and teased her like a new one before he locked them both in his room and made sure no one else came in.

Draco felt eyes quickly glance at the Slytherin King and Queen. Draco and Pansy were, without a doubt, the leading heads in the Slytherin House. Whatever they said, went, and no buts about it. If they told you to run, you ran until they told you to stop. No one could, would, and should question them. It was more a mental thing than anything else, but Draco cared not. Hierarchy always worked for him; he always was the person on top of the pyramid.

The bell sounded, dismissing the students to their first class. Students groaned as they ceased their breakfast gossip, or else they quickly finished it so that everyone would hear the juicy details by lunch time. They gathered their books and belongings and quickly treaded their separate ways. "Are you free later?" Pansy asked quickly, pressing herself closer to Draco so that they could have more privacy, or to persuade him otherwise.

Draco shrugged. Without even looking at her, or paying the slightest attention to, Draco brushed his lips against hers and mumbled, "If not later, maybe tonight."

Pansy smiled and nodded her head. She wasn't going to keep her hopes up, though. They had fallen, crashed and burned plenty of times thanks to him. If it was one thing that Pansy knew for sure about Draco Malfoy, it was the fact that he never, ever kept his promises.

There she was again with the rest of them, laughing. And all the eyes tended to keep staring at him, no matter where he moved. _Laughing should be illegal_, Draco thought moodily. He wished he were in Potions; there, Snape would have docked a hundred points from Gryffindor not only for laughing in his class, but for the fact that Potter was leading it. But, no. He was in Care of Magical Creatures and Draco was on Gryffindor turf now.

Draco could take a lot of things without getting his temper ignited. He could stand the overgrown idiot giant teaching him about the stupidest creatures that would never come in handy in later life. He could stand not being able to interpret what the blubbering oaf was talking about. He could only sigh and wish that Blaise and Pansy were there to keep him company (and sane. Draco didn't know how much more of the giant's thick accented mumblings he could stand.), but Blaise was in advanced Charms and Pansy was in detention for getting caught in the broom closet with some Hufflepuff moron. And Draco could stand sharing yet another class with the Gryffindors. But the one thing that nearly blew his top off, that put the icing on the cake, that sunk his boat rather then float it, was the Golden Trio walking towards him. No, walking would be an understatement. Strutting would probably fit better.

She was in the middle. It didn't mean that she was leading them, oh no. Draco had come to the obvious conclusion that Hermione never led the boys; she only followed and guided them when the retard genes really kicked in. She wasn't smirking like Ron. She didn't carry any look, but maybe one that just showed she'd rather be studying something worth wild then have to waste her time in this class or having to share the same air with Malfoy. Of course, the latter was more realistic, but Draco liked to think that she was thinking the first. It gave him some amusement that maybe they shared common thoughts every rare now and then.

Her hair was down today, yet the frizzyness was still there. However, it had tamed somewhat over the years. Maybe it was just puberty, and puberty seemed to work in her favor, unlike the Weasley, whose hair was greasy and plastered to his head. Draco almost wanted to remark that Weasley should stop trying to pull off the Malfoy-look, but then he thought better of it and hushed. It was rather offensive that such a poor Pureblood would try and look like him. Draco always hated being copied in looks. That was one of the unwritten laws in his House: never, in any way, act, look, or talk like Draco Malfoy.

"Well, well, well, ferret-face," Ron drawled. Draco silently noted how it reminded him of his own drawl, yet scratchier. "Why'd you even bother showing up to class today? Aren't you supposed to be in a Death Eater's meeting, kissing You-Know-Who's ass like your father?"

Unfortunately for the redhead, his voice cracked at the wrong moment, making his low voice squeak nastily. Nonetheless, the insult still hurt. "Damn it, Weasel, when the hell is your voice going to change?" Draco remarked. Fellow Slytherins chortled lowly, trying not to alert the Professor that they weren't paying attention…again.

Ron scowled, his face getting red. "When are you going to just hurry up and die?" Ron snapped back.

Malfoy rolled his eyes. "If you can't taunt, idiot, don't even bother at all. Merlin, it's a sight that you even made it _this_ far in school. To think, that someone as low intellectual as you could possible make it into this school. You're IQ is just about as low as your dad's salary…" Draco paused dramatically, and gave Ron an up and down look. "If that's that case, Holy Salazar, you should be brain dead…I guess all the cheating off the Mudblood's papers pays off, doesn't it?"

There were short snickers that were cut off as Malfoy was lifted off the ground by Ron who held him with both hands at the collar of his shirt. Ron's eyes were wild, as was the color of his face. Harry wasn't even putting a hand out to hold back Ron. It appeared that he agreed whole-heartedly with Ron's attitude. Granger seemed to be having a battle between right and wrong. "I'm going to kill you, you-" Ron swore so filthy that Hermione gasped and many of the Slytherin's raised their eyebrows, as did Draco.

Draco, being as proud as he was and never missing the opportunity of making others feel stupid about themselves, only laughed outright, and loudly. "My, my, my, I suppose the filth of Granger has rubbed off in your mouth, has it, Weasel? Only plausible, considering you constantly seem to have your tongue shoved down her throat whenever you like, a rather disgusting display even for a cheap Pureblood wizard as yourself. Resorting to Muggle mating rituals? I suppose that _is_ the only way you can get a girl, anyway."

Any further insults were never spoken as Ron howled in fury and flung Malfoy down to the ground. Ron pulled back his fist and collided it brutally against Malfoy's face faster than anything anyone had ever seen. The observers didn't realize what had happened until a rather sickening crunch filled the air. Harry tried to reach out to stop his friend from committing an act that would surely send him to Azkaban for the rest of his life (which Ron would declare would be a worthy cause if he could just beat the crap out of Malfoy). There were a couple screams as blood gushed over Draco's face.

Angry, no-livid beyond recognition, Draco didn't move, the fury inside of him paralyzing him. Everything slowed down. The jeers and screams, and cries of help that the students and observers shouted were low, distant and slow, and Ron's fist was reeling back ever so slowly to punch him again. Draco felt cold inside, icy cold, except for his hands that seemed to grow hotter and hotter till the heat was nearly unbearable. Suddenly, the speed of reality finally caught up and Ron's fist was flying towards him ever so fast. Before Draco could stop himself, Draco punched Ron squarely under the jaw, barely noticing that small flames were flickering from his hand as it smashed under Ron's face. The force of the blow flipped Ron backwards and onto his stomach. The smell of burnt flesh and hair hung in the air and many crinkled their nose, if their faces weren't transfixed in horror at the sight that had just happened before them.

"Ron!" Hermione screamed and Draco quickly looked at her, watching her as she fell by her boyfriend's side. An irritated, bitter emotion seemed to grow inside of him and Draco breathed in deeply, trying to keep his hands from igniting again. She rolled Ron over and gasped in sick horror as she examined Ron's face. All hair that had been close to his face was scorched completely off. His face itself was black and blistered. His brown eyes shined out amongst the burned and bleeding face in brilliant pain.

"Hermione…" he gasped, his lips burnt from his face. "God, it hurts, Hermione!"

"Don't speak. We'll heal you, don't worry," she hushed, patting his head and trying not to lose control over the sight. She looked at Malfoy in horror.

"You asshole!" screamed Harry as he lunged himself as Malfoy. But right when his hands were about to clasp onto Malfoy's robes, a large hand grabbed him by his collar and held him back.

"What in th' bloody name of Merlin is goin' on 'ere?" bellowed Hagrid. "Ye've disturbed me miniature gargoyles!"

The air was disturbed by catastrophic accusations.

"Ron attacked Draco!"

" After Draco insulted him horridly!"

"Dirty git! That's what he deserves!"

"_You_ deserve to have the shit beaten out of you!"

"Slytherins are trying to take over Hogwarts!"

"Gryffindons are trying to annihilate the Slytherin house all together! Blackguards!"

"To hell with Slytherins!"

"To hell with the _Gryffindors_!"

Everything was so loud and fast that Hagrid finally let out a mighty roar that made many fall to the ground and cover their ears. The birds flew from their trees and other critters quickly scurried back to their homes to hid from the beast. "ENOUGH!" bellowed the giant.

"Hagrid, can I take Ron to the Hospital Wing?" Hermione asked, wringing her hands while looking wildly in concern at her red head boyfriend.

Hagrid looked at Ron's burnt face and glared at Malfoy and Harry, struggling not to choose Harry's side. Swallowing down any cruses he longed to spit in Malfoy's face (Hargird had never truly forgiven Draco for trying to kill Buckbeak back in Third Year), Hagrid said, "Class dismissed, which gives ye no excuse to be late to yer next class. Tell yer Professor's that Mr. Malfoy and Mr. Potter will not be attending class today, neither will Mr. Weasely or Miss. Granger. Get off with ye! You four, yer coming with me."

Pushing the two troublemakers before him, Hagrid scooped the burnt Ron in his arms and quickly took them all to the Hospital Wing. Draco looked down at his hands and winced in pain as he noticed the crisp burnt flesh again. Damn it, it hurt so badly. And Blaise wasn't anywhere near with his Aloe. The one time he really wanted Blaise around with his damn Aloe was the one time he was never around. Go figure.

He already could feel the feeling of his lungs tightening and becoming coated with layers of soot. _Oh shit…_he thought. _Not in front of them. **Please** not in front of them!_

He tucked his burning, blistered hands back into his pockets, wincing at the pain but didn't try to ease the pain. He couldn't let the others see, the Gryffindors see, let alone _Potter._ He looked around, trying to hold his breath. He locked eyes with Hermione. Her eyes seemed to suck his into hers and he was quite unnerved. It was like she knew what was wrong with him, as if she knew his secret. Which was impossible. Clearly impossible…right? Damn it, if _she_ knew of all people…his father was going to kill him…

Coughing, thankfully, let him rip his eyes away from her brown gaze, and he tried to control himself. He was glad, for the first time in his life, to see the Hospital Wing and rushed inside gladly. Looking around wildly, while coughing horribly, he ran towards the room that had a small sign indicating the bathroom. Ignoring the sounds of Hagrid demanding him to stay put and not run off, Draco quickly entered the bathroom and locked the door behind him. He stumbled forward and slammed his wrists against the sink since his hands were so burnt that they couldn't grasp anything to give him some support of some sort.

He coughed again. The process was always excruciatingly horrible. His body was healing itself. It was an extra bonus to learning the art of control an Element. If bodily injury occurred, the element had the power to renew the damaged body parts, except in the times where the injury was incredibly lethal and gave no time for the body to renew itself. However, the process of renewing damages wasn't fun. Draco coughed hard, finally vomiting a mixture of ash and blood into the sink. Gasping for breath and thanking Salazar for a breath of life, Draco turned on the faucet and washed the repulsive concoction down the drain, noting that his hands were back to their pale flawlessness again. He gargled to get whatever soot was still caught between his teeth and in the back of his throat. Cleaning himself up, he walked out of the bathroom and back to Hagrid's side, acting as if nothing out of the ordinary had happened, as if he hadn't has sprinted madly to the bathroom and he hadn't had made horrible heaves into the sink. He only glared at Potter.

Potter's eyes were wide and Draco shot him a nasty glare, "What Potter? Haven't seen a forehead that didn't bear a stupid scar before?"

"You're face," he said, ignoring the comment. "It's…normal."

Puzzled, Draco reached up to his face and noted that his face was back to normal again. His mind searched looked for an excuse. And then he suddenly remembered who he was searching an excuse for and just calmly shrugged and continued to act all haughty again. He could say he knew some healing spells, if the question ever rose again. In a way, it was true. An unnatural healing spell, but it still was one from some sort of an angle.

His eyes wandered over the beds and he saw Weasly lying on one of the flimsy mattresses. He looked at the pale girl by his side and his eyes locked with hers again. And he knew for a fact, he just felt it, that Hermione Granger knew his secret.

Two words flashed through his mind: Oh Shit.

**A/N:** Well, that chapters done. I'm so sorry for those who are actually reading the _Dragonstar Quest_! I'm just…in such an angst mood right now and this is so much fun to write. Don't get me wrong, I've got about ten pages done on the fifth chapter of the _Dragonstar Quest_, so it'll be coming around sometime. I just don't know when…:sigh: I'm really bad at updating when I haven't written it up before. Most of my previous stories had just all been done all at once and then I cut them into smaller portions and edited those. A heck of a lost easier…

Anyway. Tell me what you think. Thanks for reviewing last time:grins widely: 11 reviews on one chapter:dances around room: I love you guys!


	3. The Consequences of a Little Fun

**Cry Me Tears of Fire**

By Pensive Puddles

Draco waited nervously in the Headmaster's office. He showed no outward display of nervousness, or excitement, but his insides were twisting back and forth anxiously. He tended to reach down to the pocket where his lighter was hidden. Merlin, just one light up and he'd be fine. He wished they would allow smoking at school. Sometimes he missed smoking. It had been so hard to stop, really it had been. He had tossed and turned during the nights, the taste still lingering on his tongue and cruelly torturing him. The smoke, flowing so snake-like out of from between his lips, lingering in the air before disappearing…and the feeling inside of his mouth, circulating around in small circles before he breathed it out…

He had to resort to the stupid patches. His addiction had caused him to become very short-tempered that Professor Snape finally held him after class after Draco had tossed a jar of lizard intestines at one of his fellow Slytherins, yelling curses and other threatening things for bumping into him and making him spill his potion. He had looked horrible, large bags under his eyes, and he'd constantly lick his lips. He had begged for one more cigarette, and he'd promised he'd stop after that. It would be his last one. Snape knew the old plea. He had been a cigarette addict back in his years in Hogwarts as well (he blamed it on Potter and that stupid Black. If they hadn't had tortured him, and teased him so much, he probably wouldn't have resorted to smoking to ease his frustrations…). He gave Draco patches to wear.

But although his addiction to tobacco was waning, sometimes, he just needed to feel a cigarette between his fingers, feel the perfectly rolled up piece of paper between his index finger and his middle finger. But playing with fire still worked, maybe not as physical, but it still calmed him down.

He couldn't risk it, though. He dared not show his great power in front of Dumbledore. Hell, his father would surely kill him if Dumbledore wrote him, telling him of his knowledge of his son's dark power. Draco could already hear the curses and lectures, followed by a couple of 'disciplinary' spells. He shuddered. And then he smirked; he now had the power now to defeat his father. He was the stronger of the two; he was the one who could make the other crumble to his knees, begging for mercy. The picture of Lucius' crying and begging for mercy…it tasted sweeter than any cigarettes or dark magic…it soothed his cravings.

The door closed behind him and he instantly dropped his smirk and put on a mask of confidence and calmness. It didn't stop the turning of his gut. "Mister Malfoy," Dumbledore said, taking a seat behind his desk and handing to the student a bowl filled with yellow wrapped candies. "Lemon drop?"

Draco declined. Dumbledore shrugged, taking one for himself and muttering, "I've yet to met a student who would take one…"

"Now," the old Headmaster continued, settling back into his seat with his hands clasped together and the candy tucked into the back of his mouth so that he could talk clearly. "I believe you know why you've been sent to my office."

Draco stayed perfectly still. He would not show any emotion that would tell the old man what he was feeling. He was the enemy. He had to be in control. He couldn't let him suspect anything. "As you know, there is a very burnt, pained student lying in the Hospital Wing, and I have witnesses claiming that you are the one responsible for the disturbance. Since the first person in question is occupied at the moment, I would like you to tell me your own version of the story."

Draco stayed silent. He didn't know what to say. He hadn't been at fault. If one would look at it in the lawyer's perspective, he was only acting in self-defense. But this was one cocky, deranged Headmaster, so who knew what could happen? "Honesty and unbiased facts is advised, Draco. It will determine the outcome of this whole event," the headmaster added, trying to encourage the young man to talk.

"Weasley assaulted me, sir. I only attacked in self-defense," Draco said monotonously. He did not say anything cocky or rude, for he was the one in questioning. Dumbledore nodded, sucking on the lemon drop. Draco suddenly remembered this was the second time he had been beaten by his peers. There was that time back in fifth year, where he had been badmouthing the Weasley family and the twins, and Potter had been sentenced to detention and banned from Quidditch for the rest of the year. It had been worth getting beaten though. This one…he didn't know if this was a fight that had been worth the pain and effort.

"And why did Mr. Weasley attack you?" he asked. Draco thought for a moment, trying to figure out how he could word his response in order to prevent himself from sounding childish. "I responded crudely to the accusations he had imposed upon me."

"What did you say?"

"I belittled his family and his choice of girlfriends," Draco said. He knew he was screwed now. Surprisingly to him, Dumbledore asked again, "And what did Mr. Weasley say to deserve such a barb?"

"He accused me of being a Death Eater," Draco responded calmly. He prayed Dumbledore wouldn't ask if he was one. Technically, he wasn't a Death Eater and he'd never be. The Dark Lord would never mark him as a Death Eater follower. He was to bear the mark of Voldemort's heir when he turned eighteen, which was in a month. Thus, he would be spared from becoming a follower, but he'd be forced to be the leader.

Dumbledore nodded slowly, drumming his fingers together and moving the lemon drop to the left side of his mouth. "And how did Mr. Weasley's face get so burnt?"

"I'm not sure, sir. I remember punching him under the jaw to get off of me. I think, sir, that maybe my own emotions caused me to do that, to burn him I mean. You know how you can make people blow up if you get too angry? I'm ashamed to say that I imagined Weasley burning the color of his hair. That's the only reasonable thing I can assume that caused the face damages," Draco said, avoiding the Headmaster's gaze and feigning a look of shame. Damn, he was good!

He sighed sadly and looked back up at the young man. "I'm sad to hear that such childish acts still take place between young men like yourself. I would have hoped that by your seventh year you would have acknowledged how immature fighting is. As you can see, I can not let this incident go unnoticed or unpunished." Draco felt his stomach fall. He was going to lose his Head Boy badge. This definitely wasn't going to be pretty.

"Headmaster, sir, may I speak?" Draco cut in. Dumbledore paused and nodded. "I was wrong to fight…Mr. Weasley. It was childish and immature as you described it so accurately, and thus I realize that I have no excuse for my behavior. I should be able to control my temper at this age, but sadly, I am having difficulty with it. Thus, I humbly hand in my Head Boy badge, for you wouldn't want someone like me as an example to the future graduates of Hogwarts."

Draco certainly had a way with words. Dumbledore raised his eyebrows, "Take your badge? Nonsense, Mr. Malfoy. I can understand schoolboy fights. I must admit that I had those when I was in school myself. I was hoping that you would be smarter than me. But I suppose boys will be boys," Dumbledore remarked with a twinkle in his eye. "You are an excellent Head Boy, and it would be a shame to dismiss you for letting your emotions get the best of you. I must listen to Mr. Weasley's side of the story, but I do trust you, Mr. Malfoy, and I believe you wouldn't lie to me or exaggerate the things you have said. After I confront Mr. Weasley, I will administer the punishments. I hope that it will not take your badge. But I consider giving second chances another important quality that students must learn in life. Would you agree, Mr. Malfoy?"

Draco nodded. So he wasn't going to have his badge taken away from him…yet. At least, his father would send him a Howler for that.

"You are dismissed to class, that is if you feel well enough. If not, you may report to the Hospital Wing and rest," Dumbledore instructed. Draco nodded, "Thank you, sir, but I assure you, I feel fine."

Draco turned to leave and almost reached the door when the old man called out, "Oh, Mr. Malfoy!" causing him to turn around to wait for the Headmaster's question. "I am curious, how did you heal your face?"

Draco quickly searched for an excuse. It was one thing to ignore Potter and company. It was quite another to ignore the Headmaster who could make the rest of his education at Hogwarts hell. "I preformed a healing charm, sir. I was in extreme discomfort."

"Ah," the headmaster nodded. "Taking extra studies on the side, I see?"

"Yes, sir," he lied.

And with that, he exited out of the Headmaster's office, his cloak blowing around him as he moved. He let out a long breath as he walked down the hall to his next class: Potions. He was so relieved that that meeting was over. It was a good thing that Dumbledore had listened to them separately. And he had to respect the man for listening to both sides of the story and not immediately assuming and punishing him when Weasley had been at fault. Potter couldn't save him now! It had really been Weasley's whole fault in the end. He had barbed him, and Draco had naturally responded. He wasn't the one who had lifted the other off his feet and threatened to kill him. He was the victim here. Although, he had no bruises to prove it. Oh well, he hadn't been punished right away, and as far as he knew, Weasley was still in the Hospital Wing, being treated for his burns. He chuckled, remembering the burnt red head. Served him right attacking him like he did. Merlin! He felt good! And with that, he walked to his favorite class, a bounce in his step and a pleased, evil smirk plastered on his face that would scare any little kids for weeks on end.

Potions class was quite unbearable that day, which put him in a very foul mood considering he enjoyed potions a lot. Not only because Snape was the one teaching it and he could get away with anything, but he did truly enjoying mixing and creating something. It took more skill, in his opinion, to concoct something then to wave a piece of stick around and mutter incantations.

He rolled his eyes as glances kept shooting in his direction, all from the Gryffindor side of the room. After hearing of the Gryffindor vs. Slytherin brawl in Care of Magical Creatures, Professor Snape thought it wise to keep Gryffindors with Gryffindors and Slytherins with Slytherins for the time being. He couldn't handle any fights today; he was too busy making sure that the complex potion they were doing would turn out fine. He couldn't stand mistakes. 'Curse that stupid Longbottom!' Draco could imagine Snape cursing in his head as Neville squeaked unnatural as his potion made an exploding sound on his side of the room. Draco only chuckled, earning him some nasty, threatening glares from the Gryffindors who had heard him.

"Nice to see you're still in a good mood," Blaise commented while scraping cut newt's tails into their cauldron.

"After beating the shit out of Weasley like I did? Hell, I feel great!" Draco said under his breath so that no Gryffindor could hear him. He knew they'd pounce on him like lions to fresh meat if he provoked them even just a little.

Blaise eyed his friend who was shaking in silent laughter. "It's not funny, you know. Weasley's seriously injured. They couldn't heal him and they had to send him to St. Mungo's."

Draco raised a pale eyebrow. "Little ol' me did that much damage?" he asked, a smirk already growing on his face. "Merlin, I _am_ good!"

Blaise rolled his eyes, grabbing a hold of Draco's sleeve and pulling him close, whispering fiercely in his ear so he wouldn't have to speak too loudly, "Don't you understand! Your powers could be discovered. Nearly all of the people in both houses can vouch that they saw fire around your fist when you punched Weasley! How are you going to cover that? How?"

"Blaise, calm down, damn it, you're ruining my clothes," Draco snarled, jerking out of Blaise's grip. "I can handle the situation."

Blaise sighed, knowing that Draco was too stubborn to accept that he was being cornered and needed an escape route. He stirred the potion, glancing at the board to make sure they were making the potion correctly. "Fine," he said defeated. "Just pass me the Hydra scales. We need to add those in after the 36th clockwise stir."

_Great_, Draco thought. _He's mad at me._ That's all he needed right now. His best and only loyal friend pissed at him. This definitely was all Weasley's fault. He hoped his face would be permanently crisped. Served the bastard right.

Hermione spotted the vile creature amongst the crowd of students and instantly tailed him. Harry was close on her heels, his own green eyes glaring at the pale headed Slytherin. Hermione was able to slip around the people quicker and easier compared to Harry whose tall, broad figure was finding it hard to maneuver through the crowd. Hermione bent and twisted around people, barely touching them. Harry took the time to look at his best friend, admiring her ability to slip amongst people unnoticed.

Malfoy broke off from the crowd unnoticed and unfollowed except by Hermione and Harry. They quickened their steps as the crowd thinned. Hermione broke into a quick sprint, her feet soundless against the floor. Malfoy cursed as Hermione grabbed him by his shoulder roughly and with more force then necessary, she slammed him against the wall, his shoulder blades pinching into his back painfully. "What the—" he began and stopped when Hermione's hand contacted painfully against his face. He tried to reach up to touch his face but suddenly found his arm twisted unnaturally behind his back and pulled uncomfortably high. He growled in pain, wincing but never letting them get the satisfaction of hearing him scream. He glanced behind him and saw a flash of raging green eyes and wild black hair. With his face burning and his arm aching horribly, Draco only hissed through clenched teeth, "What the hell do you want?"

"You…you bastard!" Hermione cursed in a whisper as she stood in front of him, her face blushing at saying such a foul word. Draco raised his eyebrows in surprise, which quickly disappeared as she slapped him again, turning his expression to anger. Oh, he was going to _kill_ her when he was let go. She only stared at him squarely in the eyes, "You horrible, pig! How dare you! How _dare_ you!"

"How dare I? May I remind you that _I_ was the victim in that situation? Not your precious, disgusting boyfriend," Draco growled, scowling fiercly at remembering images of the red headed freak slobbering all over her face earlier that morning. How could she let him do that to her? It was disgusting. He bet she never really had a true kiss. He hissed as Harry yanked hard on his arm, yanking him out of his dark thoughts. He was going to kill them both…

"It doesn't matter you little-" Hermione shot Harry a warning look while he snarled a stream of horrible curses. She was still Head Girl and Harry was bending the line for her not to take points off him. "If I ever see you near any of us, especially Ron, I will finish what he started."

"And you will end up exactly where he is," Malfoy warned, making a sharp whistle sound with his mouth. Hermione and Harry looked around as Slytherins with wands outstretched pointed at them. "Release me, Potter, or else you'll be hexed so hard that there'll be a few more scars to accompany that lonely one on your ugly forehead. Not to mention your little girlfriend here will be hexed within an inch of her life. I'm not fooling you, hurt me in any way and I will go after her first."

"You slimy bastard. Going for the women first? What a coward," Harry snarled, roughly releasing Malfoy to the ground. Malfoy turned around, his own wand outstretched. He didn't reach up to touch his arm to rub it soothingly to stop the throbbing, as he longed to. Instead, he smirked, "As far as I can see, there are no women among your army. Just one…filthy…mudblood."

The Slytherins chuckled at their leader's comment. Harry took a step forward and instantly Malfoy grabbed Hermione around her throat, his wand pointed at her head. She reached up, clawing at his arm that was preventing her from breathing normally. When he continued to tighten his grip, she stopped clawing. Harry's face darkened and his clenched fists trembled. Malfoy leaned down, resting his face closer to Hermione's head. He smirked as he saw Harry's eyes grow darker. He knew he was twisting a nerve. Oh, he had observed the Trio more than anyone else. He knew their weaknesses. He knew the boys' weakness. Careless buffoons. And he knew that there was more than one boy who yearned to steal the heart of Hermione Granger. And she knew nothing about it to stop it.

His lips brushed against her ear as he spoke and a tingly feeling numbed his chest as he felt her tremble against his body, he was pressed so close to her, "A warning, mudblood: don't walk in dark corridors; who knows what hides in the shadows."

It wasn't a question; it was definitely a forewarning, a dark warning that made her a little more rigid. Draco watched Potter's face closely and inwardly smirked in triumph as he noticed the scarhead's face wrinkle in worry. Always worrying about her, always. Then again, it was understandable. She did have him unknowingly wrapped around her little finger. This would usually anger Draco, he hated it when girls purposely tried to control a man. But she wasn't like the other girls. She was completely clueless to her best friend's feelings towards her. Innocent, too innocent. He could sense her purity, and he vaguely felt as if that white light of hers was dimming because of him holding her. It should have pleased him. It should have made him happy that he was slowly destroying one of Harry Potter's greatest allies, but it didn't. It made him feeling oddly guilty…and he couldn't put his finger on why exactly. He inwardly quickly shook of the feeling and focused on the task before him.

He smirked and threw the girl to Harry who caught her in his arms and held her protectively. "Get lost. My patience wans thin," Malfoy said, brushing his hair back. He wore a bored expression and his eyes stared lazily at the duo. Harry shot him one last, evil and livid glare before Hermione pulled him away.

Draco chuckled, waving his wand and the images of the Slytherins disappeared. "Works every time."

"One day it won't," Blaise said, stepping out from the shadows. "Someone will eventually see through the mirages."

Draco sighed inwardly. Blaise was following him again. Draco shrugged. "I'll worry about that when the time comes."

Blaise sighed. "You are one hard headed ass, you know that?"

"Don't forget filthy rich and handsome," Draco added, turning towards his friend and smirking. Blaise rolled his eyes and returned the smirk. It was useless to make Draco feel bad about himself. In fact, it was damn impossible.

**A/N:** Ok, ok, ok! I know that I should be writing more about _The Dragonstar Quest_, but I'm really getting more interested into this story instead. I'm a sucker to angst. I can't seem to write true fluff and stuff anymore. Especially after I read this one fanfic about clichés. It made me think about my own writing again, and so I'm trying to write less fluff and more understandable stories.

Anyway. I want to thank all y'all for reviewing for the last chapter! I love you guys! XD It makes me so happy!

Please review! Peaches!


	4. The First Detention

**Cry Me Tears of Fire **

By Pensive Puddles

Draco hissed as the desk corner poked him sharply in the thigh again. He growled under his breath but continued to scrub. Imagine, Draco Malfoy _cleaning_ desks… oh! the humiliation! He hated cleaning. Why bother? It was just going to get dirty again anyway.

Detention, he still couldn't believe he had gotten off so easily. Then again, he was a Malfoy, and Malfoy's got away with everything. Look at his father, for example! How many times had he weaseled his way out of Azkaban? It all boiled down to money. But Dumbledore was one of those men who were foreign to money, who cared nothing and viewed it as nothing more than paper and round pieces of metal. The old bloke found no thrill or value out of something such as money. His views on hard labor weren't anything like his views on money, however.

Quickly taking the stories of the witnesses and Weasley on the incident during Care of Magical Creatures, Draco and the idiot, Weasley, were condemned to three weeks worth of detention. _One day of detention down… 20 more nights left to go_, he thought bitterly.

"Damn," he mumbled as he paused and looked at his throbbing red hands. They appeared raw and blistered, so unused to hard labor they were. Why was he being punished? He wasn't he one who started it. He defended himself, like any man would do. He didn't mean to nearly light the rodent on fire, and besides, if he had, he would have put the burning Weasel out…eventually.

He collapsed back into one of the chairs, cracking his neck and giving his hands a break. He'd have to begin again, but thankfully he was already two-thirds done. And this time, he couldn't slack off. Flinch was serving detention, which meant that if that old geezer didn't like what he saw, Draco would have to keep cleaning until he was satisfied. And Draco desperately wanted sleep. He hadn't had much these last few nights, more like months.

The pale boy looked around the dim, dark room. How could Snape let his room get so downright disgusting? The amount of fungus he had found in the corners was repulsive. He hadn't wanted to touch the foul, fluffy weeds, until Filch had handed him a spray, which practically burned the fungus alive. After Flinch had left when his cat told him of another rule-breaker (Draco did _not_ want to know why or how Flinch had a special, mind reading bond with his furry pet), Draco tried to entertain himself by using his fire power to burn the weeds. He had quite enjoyed himself, creating a snake out of pure fire and making it slither along the ground and attack the unsuspecting fungus. If only the weed could have fought back…

Draco wished the throbbing in his hands would cease. He could feel the grime of the dirt on the desk dry against his perfect skin. He hated to feel dirty, unhygienic. He wanted to take a bath, a nice long hot bath. Or maybe a long ride on his broomstick. He missed flying. He hadn't had enough time lately to fly for pleasure. Head Boy duties, Quidditch captain responsibilities and other…extra activities kept him busy.

He took out his lighter. He had been craving it all day. It had felt good to use it on the weeds; it was good practice in controlling his element better. Control, he needed to have ultimate control in order to fully control the element, and hopefully others as well. Supposedly, a wizard could control all four elements. It hadn't happened in centuries, and as far as Draco could remember, the last wizard was only able to obtain three elements. He had ended up losing control, letting his emotions getting the best of him and sadly, had made himself explode. Thankfully, the fire had turned him to ashes so there was no mess to clean up. The Ministry always hated messy deaths.

Draco would _never_ let that happen to _him_. 1) He was a Malfoy, 2) Malfoy's never lost control (well, usually they don't. Draco was finding he had become more moody now that he had his new powers and thus he blamed that for the reason why he had lost his temper countless of times now), and 3) he was Voldemorte's heir, so obliviously he would have more magical power than any other wizard. Draco smirked and his arrogance somehow fed the fire. He watched in amazement as the fire grew and jumped out of his hand. He kept perfectly still and watched as the fire flickered into a shape.

He could distinguish a feminine body, and somehow the fire was capable of casting shadows on its form, making the details clearer. The figure appeared naked, but it was hard to tell, the fire wouldn't stay still. It was as if a clear, heat-resistant plastic covered the flames and trapped them inside, molding it into this fire nymph that transformed before Draco. Long locks of fiery hair cascaded down her back, the fire moved in spirals downward to the floor. Her body was shaped perfectly, a figure that many girls dreamed of having, and many tried to achieve through plastic surgery. But this, this was utter perfection that could never be created by mortal hands.

She, It, the nymph, flipped her hair behind her, getting stray locks behind her shoulders. Her face titled towards him and her perfect body started walking towards him. She was life-size, and she walked like a human. Her hips swayed, the fire ran in teasing lines and spirals inside of her body. Draco was transfixed, sitting back in his chair. She leaned forwards, her hand reaching up and nearly touching his face. He flinched, thoroughly surprised that her touch didn't burn. In fact, it was quite cool. She smirked, he could see it outlined in her flaming face. He could distinguish facial structure, and it appeared so natural that he found it quite shocking to remind himself that this was something he created…somehow. The nymph sat on his lap, loosely straddling him. She wrapped its arms around his neck, lazily playing with his hair.

She leaned closer in and Draco could feel her coolness. _How strange…_

He could see her lips, perfectly outlined on her face. He could see her eyelashes seductively lower and rise when she blinked. He could have sworn he could see her eyes glide over his face and torso, but he wasn't quite sure. The flames wouldn't stop dancing inside of her. Draco had a sudden fear that the creature would kiss him, but instead, the lips went past his lips and to his ear. He trembled in surprise as her kiss burnt slightly as she kissed his ear. The pain instantly vanished and he wondered if he had felt anything in the first place.

He could feel her soft, cool lips brush against his ear, and her voice was deep yet distant and lofty as she spoke words that chilled him more than anything he had every heard in his life. "It'll be over soon."

Yelping, he shoved the creature off of him, a devilish smile on her face as she hit the floor and scattered into a multitude of flames that quickly faded in the air. Draco sat, staring at the spot where the creature had distinguished. He breathed heavily, his chest rising and falling quickly. He could suddenly recall many of his dreams. He could see her…the girl at his initiation. Those brown eyes, those kind touches. She had felt pity for him. And she had died. He didn't know why she died, but he remembered how she just looked at him…Merlin, it was permanently engraved in his mind. He could still hear her slight pause in her breathing and then her long exhale.

And then she was dead and the men were hauling her body off unceremoniously, the tiny grin still stuck on her lips. He had wanted to tear it off, but he couldn't move. It was like invisible binds had tied him to the floor. He would have called for help, but he didn't. Pride was the only thing that kept him from crying in utter humiliation. Pride was the only thing that had kept him from screaming during his marking. Pride was the only think that kept him from shouting for help. Pride was the only thing that made them continue on with the ceremony.

He wasn't sure of the details of the ceremony that had taken place that horrible night. All he remembered was that it was supposed to give him more power. Voledmort was so desperate in killing Potter he was willing to use Ancient Magic to achieve his means; the old Mudblood couldn't kill Harry Potter himself.

It was a prehistoric ritual, one that had died out centuries ago because many of the wizard folk had dubbed it barbarian. It hadn't been used in so long, it was a miracle that he had survived it. He remembered how horrible it was. No pain could equal it; no amount of _Crucio's _could match the pain. It was the type of pain that penetrated everything: mind, body, and soul. The Death Eaters spent weeks before hand, studying the chants, making sure that their pronunciation were flawless. One mispronounced _syllable_ could have ended up in ultimate disaster. His father had been one of those chosen Death Eaters to carry out the ritual.

Anger surged inside of Draco. How could a father _do_ that to his only son? How could any father watch his son be branded like a cow? How could a father watch his son become possessed by some evil spirit? Draco, truth be told but not to any living ears, found most of the good vs. bad battles and schemes a waste of time. He would have loved there was a neutral side, pull a Hufflepuff as many liked to say during a fight. Dumb idiots, never really did stand up for what they believed in. Ravenclaw didn't either. It was only Slytherin and Gryffindor that started the fights. And that's what made him chose a side, Slytherin ran through his blood.

And being a Slytherin meant having an oversized ego, pride, wealth, and let's not forget the most important factor: Pureblood. But still, even through all these traits that he'd receiving Outstanding's on, he'd prefer to be neutral. Sometimes he was tired of acting the way he was. It became uneventful, too predictable. Every day was the same thing. Every day brought nothing new. Every letter from his father was the same boring message discreetly talking about only one thing: the Dark Lord.

To put it as simple as possible, Draco just got sick of it. He was tired of acting. He was tired of pretending. He was tired of trying to gain the respect he dearly wanted from his father; it was a losing battle. He once thought life was absolutely not worth living. He hadn't killed himself in the end. He found that cowardly, and he knew that Potter's trio would have been overjoyed at the news of his death. It was that thought that kept him from killing himself. He still had a job to do: to make Potter and co.'s life as hellish as possible. Still, he would secretly admit that there were times where he didn't want to barb Potter and his friends. He sometimes wished he could just sit in the same room with them without arguing, without talking to them. That was impossible. If _he_ didn't start anything, _they_ certainly would find something to insult. And then the cycle would begin again.

He was tired of it all and just the thought of Potter, of his father, of the responsibility of being Voldemort's so-called heir when really he was just a pawn in his little game, enraged him.

Angrily getting to his feet, Draco grabbed the dirty rag and rinsed it with water before scrubbing at the desks he hadn't cleaned yet. His anger fueled him as he scrubbed harder and harder at the desk, scrubbing the memories out of his mind.

There was a dark stain on one of the desks. It reminded him of the color of her eyes. He scrubbed.

And scrubbed.

Harder.

Fiercer.

Faster.

And while he savagely tried to scrap the stain out of the desk, he kept thinking of his father who had hurt him so deeply that nothing that he'd do could make Draco forgive him. And the thing that made his hands bleed as the rough rag tore at his soft flesh was that he knew that his father would never ask for forgiveness.

It angered and pained him so much that he found himself breathing heavily, a broken chair splinted all over the floor. The red haze lifted from his eyes and he looked at the destruction he had caused. When had he broken the chair? Merlin, he hoped neither Flinch nor Snape would notice the crack in the wall…

:-:-:-:-:-:

"Hermione," cooed a soft voice in her ear. She shivered as hot hair blew into her ear. "Wake up. The library's on fire."

The library…on _fire_? All those precious books!

"No!" she yelled, jerking herself out of her sleep and quickly getting to her feet. Her hand automatically and instinctively groped for her wand, and without letting the sleepy haze fade, she yelled the first thing that came to her mind that would save her darling, valuable books, "_Aquarious_!"

"Bloody Merlin!" yelled a drenched Seamus, looking down at his clothes soaked from Hermione's water attack. "It was just a bloody joke, girl! Get a grip!"

The Gryffindor Common room erupted into loud fits of laughter, and Hermione's faced blushed darkly as she tried to dry Seamus. "I'm so sorry! I didn't mean to. You just gave me such a fright."

"Obviously…" Seamus growled, wiping at his clothes. Finding it pointless, he stopped and fixed his bangs that were hanging in front of his eyes. A mischievous glint caught in his eyes causing Hermione to freeze. She looked up at him as a large, maniac smile covered his face. "Seamus," she said warningly.

"Oh sweetheart, I think someone wants a hug!" Seamus called in a singsong voice. The bookworm screamed as Seamus made a dive for her, missing. With the psycho smile still on his face, he raced after her, following her in circles around the couch as she tried to get away. Jumping over the couch and cutting her off, Seamus swooped the shrieking girl in his arms and held her tightly to his chest while she fought against him. The watchers laughed as Hermione struggled to get out of his grip. He rubbed his wet face and neck over her face, smearing water all over her.

Hermione shrieked even louder, which soon turned into laughter. "Take your hands off her, villain!" someone shouted.

The crowd looked at Harry whose wand was outstretched, pointed directly at Seamus. Seamus pulled Hermione behind him and took out his own wand, pointing it at Harry. "She is mine, Potter! You'll have to kill me to get her!"

"I intend to," Harry said, muttering an incantation that transformed his wand into a sword. Seamus smirked, also changing his wand into a sword. Holding out his sword, Harry yelled, "En guard!"

"En guard!" Seamus replied and clashed swords with Harry. It was a spectacular sight, watching the two boys fight, insulating each other.

"You fight like my mother!"

"I fought your mother! That's a compliment!"

"My sword shall taste your blood!"

"Not unless mine tastes yours first!"

Swipe, duck, dramatic slicing, it was all an act but highly entertaining. Harry jumped on top one of the chairs and leaped off, pointing his sword down at Seamus. And suddenly the act was not an act any longer, nor was it entertaining. The crowd cried in alarm as the sword went through Seamus's chest. Yelling out in horror, surprise, and pain, Seamus collapsed to the ground. He reached a hand towards Hermione who came towards him and kneeled by his head, "My dearest, my love of my life! It's always been you. Take care of…Seamus Junior…"

Seamus kissed her hand and touched her stomach affectionately before falling back and dying, a trickle of blood flowing from the corner of his lips. The crowd looked with wide eyes, staring at the dead boy and at the shaking girl by his side. Hermione was pregnant? She was with Ron, wasn't she? They watched with shocking disgust as Harry ripped the sword out of his chest and pulled Hermione to her feet. "Victory is mine!"

"As it should be, Harry Potter!" Seamus shouted, getting to his feet. The crowd let out a sigh of relief before shouting in anger, "You jerk! We thought you were dead!"

"Pity he isn't," someone commented, making the mob laugh. Seamus cleaned up himself up with the help of his wand. "Good fight, Harry," Seamus said, holding out his hand. "It appears the best man has won."

"Well, did you really expect that you could beat Harry Potter?" Neville remarked, coming over and smiling at the two. Hermione shook her head and laughed with the others.

"Oh Hermione, that was so romantic! Having two men duel over you! And it wasn't with wands either! Some girls have all the luck," Lavender gushed, sighing dreamily.

"How'd you make it look so realistic?" someone asked.

"Magic," Harry shrugged and the room erupted with laughter at the pun. Hermione detached herself from the group and walked towards the door. She suddenly didn't feel like laughing anymore. Her thoughts turned to Ron.

She was pleased that no one stopped her, and she quickly walked back to her own Common room, hoping that Malfoy wasn't there.

_That horrid, vile creature!_ she thought, anger surging through her veins. Oh! she'd kill the wretched beast of she could! Nothing could make Hermione forgive him for what he had done to Ron. She didn't even want to remember how horrible and sick she felt holding Ron's hand during those few moments in the Infirmary

He had been so burnt; she could still remember how sick she got every time she looked at him. And it killed her because she could do nothing to help him. All she was capable of doing was sitting next to him and holding his hand, letting him squeeze it when a wave of pain overcame him.

He had tried to talk, but the nurse had told him to hush. She couldn't remember if he had any recognizable lips to speak through. His beautiful, long, silky red hair was no more. His face had been so distorted by the fire and heat. She could still feel the ice cold fear inside of her stomach as doctors from St. Mungo's came and quickly port keyed Ron away. No one knew how long Ron would be hospitalized, and already it felt like an eternity when it had only been two days.

She missed him, how he smelled of the Weasley scent. She missed how he'd put his arm around her and give her kisses against her cheek. She had never had a boyfriend. With Victor Krum, that had been just a one sided infatuation on Victor's side. She wasn't entirely attracted to Victor. Sure, she was immensely flattered that someone as famous like him would like a bookworm like her. And she was in love with the idea of being loved _by _him. But deep down, she knew that she could never really love him. Truth be told, she had a slight crush on Ron since third year in meeting Sirius. It had grown, and heavens she had been excited when she discovered that Ron shared the same feelings as her.

She would kill Malfoy, that is if Harry didn't get to him first. It took nearly all of Hermione's strength and words to keep Harry from hunting down Malfoy and _Avada_ing him then and there. He had looked at her, his eyes so pained at seeing his friend injured and not being avenged for his pain. She was so worried if Ron was going to be normal again. Distorted facial features would have only increased Malfoys barbing next to Ron's lack of wealth, his red hair, and his 'mudblood' girlfriend. Harry and her both knew that Ron was going to be embarrassed about his face. He already got irked when Malfoy would tease him about his freckles, pale skin and outrageously bright hair. Not that Malfoy should have been talking, his hair was ghostly white that when in the sunlight it was blinding.

And yet, there was something about Malfoy that having bright hair was perfectly flawless. It was just his features. They flowed together so well. Pale skin only looked pleasing on him. Pale hair only appeared perfect on him. Pale eyes, only flawless and fitting in his face. Everything that made him perfect to the female population of Hogwarts, everything that made girls sigh dreamily, everything was unnatural, and yet perfectly normal. He was a work of the gods, as some girls loved to exaggerate. And Hermione would have to say under a truth potion that she herself found Malfoy attractive. Until he opened his mouth, that is.

He was so horrible, so cruel. How could he be so cold? She could still remember his arm wrapped tightly around her neck. And she could remember how soft his lips were against her ear; it only made her wonder what they'd feel like against her lips. His breath had been so hot, which surprised her when he could act and speak so coldly. She supposed it was because of her childish stereotype against Malfoy's that made her assume that even his breath would feel cold. And his lips…it had felt as if burnt marks had been left on her ear. But there weren't any, she had checked twice.

His arms had been so strong. If she hadn't been in that awful predicament, and if the arms had been wrapped around her waist, she would have felt protected. She knew of his powers; she could _feel_ it pulse inside of him. And with that power coursing thought him and making it almost tangible to her, she had felt such an urge to share the power, to carry it herself. It was so alluring, Dark Magic. She found it fascinating, but she wasn't willing to sell her body and soul to obtain it, especially if it hurt her friends in the end. No, she would have to admire Dark Magic from afar and watch as Malfoy grew in power.

_Stop him, before he gets too strong. Tell somebody!_ her mind would cry out to her. But something was holding her back, some inner voice told her it was unwise, that it would serve for a purpose later in life. So she continued to walk down the halls, shoving her frightening, yet exciting memories of Malfoy into the back of her mind, and instead she focused on Ron.

But the more she thought of Ron, the clearer she remember Malfoy punching Ron, Malfoy chocking her, Malfoy standing with such arrogance, Malfoy glowing with power and strength. And that power, as bitter as it should have tasted, tasted intensely sweet instead, and Hermione wondered what Malfoy would do if he knew that she knew of his powers. Maybe he'd share, or teach her… she smirked. Malfoy, sharing? That was as impossible as him loving her. Basically, it was never going to happen. Ever.

:-:-:-:-:-:-:-:

**A/N:** :waves white flag: Uh…sorry for the delay:dives back into ditch as machine guns and bombs go off: Yeah, I had a feeling that'd happen…

Hey, flame me for my deal in a review…just as long as you review. You've all been doing so wonderful these last three chapters! Peaches for everybody! Or whatever fruit you'd prefer...

And just for some justification for my writing last chapter: 1) sorry for the typos and 2) I know it seemed as Draco was OOC in that chapter in the way he talked to Dumbledore, but he knows how to weasel himself out of trouble. He knows the he said/she said deal won't work with Dumbledore and that it is childish. Thus, he tried to approach the situation like an adult, and he showed respect, although later in the chapter I tried to show that he really wasn't sorry and he was just saying it to get himself off the hook. Did that make any sense:scratches head with worry: sorry if I confused anyone!

Oh, and thanks to my beta, Ptsrt (who I had no idea was my beta, but hey, she's/he's reading my story and helping me become a better writer. So I'm all for it!) :D Happy Valentine's Day to everybody! You know what's really strange? This is still taking place during Christmas time…O.o


	5. New Faces, Old Love

Just because I want to: You know what, I'd just like to **THANK EVERYBODY **for giving me 44 reviews so far! It's such an honor! Really, it is! I want to really thank **Ptrst **(does that stand for anything in particular?) for betaing for me (yeah, you're my beta now...and I'm not sure how those work exactly…but what your doing right now is really helpful and good!) I would also like to thank coffee for I wouldn't be alive right now without Instant Packages of coffee and hot water. Works better than tea and has a greater variety of flavors: original, Irish cream, caramel, mocha, hazel, amoretto…. actually, I'm only drinking original and Irish…those are the only ones that are going down well (besides, the other's are disgusting :pukes:)

* * *

**Cry Me Tears of Fire**

Pensive Puddles

She sat curled in her favorite chair near the fire. She wasn't gazing into it as she usually did. She couldn't; her eyes were too blurred by the tears that flooded and coursed down her face. She looked like a broken fairy. "Angel" was too clichéd and over used to describe a girl, and besides, her hair labeled her _far_ from angelic. Instead, she reminded Harry more of a forest fairy, a fair wood nymph who's long wild hair trapped sweet spring flowers in it, who's smile was charming and soft, who lounged in vines that wrapped around branches to make swings that no mortal eye could see, who danced around the lake and played with nature herself, and nature loved her like her own child. And fairy rarely found anything to cry about, and the sight of a crying fairy was painful to bear. It made the observer feel a heart wrenching pain and a desire to dry her eyes and do anything to make her smile again.

Hermione sniffled, not bothering to wipe her tears away until she saw Harry coming towards her. Rubbing her wet face with her sleeve, she cleared her throat and said, "Hello, Harry."

She grinned a greeting, feigning to be upset. Harry's eyes softened at the sight of her earthy brown eyes now resembling a puddle of muck. He expected tears of mud to roll down her cheek with each blink. And clear, crystal tears continued to fall, even as she tried feverishly to wipe them away and stop them from falling. He sat down next to her, and she looked at him with quizzical eyes. Why did he look so perplexed?

"Listen, I need to talk to you," Harry said abruptly. "I know this is a bad time to bring this up, and I'm sorry, but this has been bothering me for a long time, now. I know this has been a hard time for you, and I'm sorry." He paused naturally, causing a genuine, dramatic pause. Uneasiness and nervousness overcame him and instead of saying what he wanted to say in the first place, he said instead, "I should have stopped Ron and none of this would have happened. Please don't cry. You know, I really hate seeing you cry."

She sniffled, "Harry…thank you."

He didn't want to talk about Ron. He wanted to tell her that he really liked her, a _lot_. He wanted to tell her that he had been dreaming of her for a year. He wanted to tell her that every glance she gave him, every time she touched him, every word she spoke to him, it meant so much to him. It gave him this unknowing strength he didn't realize he had lost. He wanted to tell her three simple words, three simple words that were the hardest to say. I love you.

But it wasn't the right time. She was vulnerable. She missed Ron. She _loved_ Ron. And Ron loved her. He'd be a backstabbing friend if he tried to go for his best mate's girlfriend. But a stubborn voice inside of his mind continued to poke at him. He doesn't deserve her! He treated her unfairly; you yourself saw that! You know you could really make her happy. You know you could make her dreams a reality. You have the money to do it, too. Ron's too poor to keep her happy.

It was that last comment that made Harry truly feel guilty. It wasn't Ron's fault he was poor. It wasn't Harry's fault that he was rich. And Harry knew that people could be even happier dirt poor then outrageously rich. But that nagging voice in him tried to bring up any excuse that would give him good justification for having Hermione by his side, as _his own_.

"Hermione," he began at the same time she said, "Harry."

"You go first," he said.

She bit her lip. "Harry, something's been bothering for quite some time. You see…"

Harry waited patiently for her to finish. She breathed in deeply and said rather quickly, "You see, I don't know if I feel the same way towards Ron as he feels towards me. I mean, it's been wonderful, I suppose. No, well, I guess so and any girl should feel fortunate to have him. But Harry, I just don't feel it anymore. I just don't think it's working out between us."

"Hermione, what are you saying?" Harry said, confused and yet some sort of happy bubble was multiplying in his gut. He was feeling incredibly light.

"Harry, you're so daft!" she growled, frustrated, her face growing red with embarrassment, "Harry, what I'm trying to say is that I love you! I don't love Ron anymore; I don't think I loved him in the beginning. I liked him fondly, yes, but I didn't want to hurt his feelings. And I felt trapped when I was with him. Harry, I don't love Ron. I love _you_; it's _always_ been you."

Another tear fell from her eyes. "And that's why I'm crying. It's not because of Ron-well, some of it because of Ron- it's my emotions. It's frustrating; I didn't know what to do with my feelings for you! I mean, I don't want to hurt Ron, but it's not him who I love. Oh, why had any of this happened? I only want to be with you."

"Hermione," Harry said, quickly holding her in a tight embrace, trying to calm her shaking body. He wiped her tears away and leaned down, "I love you too." And with that secret finally revealed, he leaned down and kissed her.

"Harry," she said.

"Yes?" Harry replied dreamily.

"Harry, you're spilling juice all over the table!" she said.

"What?" Harry asked, confused and he blinked. Suddenly, the warm common room was gone, the love was gone, and he found himself sitting in the crowded Great Hall eating breakfast with the rest of the Hogwarts students. Hermione reached for his hand and grabbed the pitcher of juice out of it, as Harry was absently continuing to pour the juice into his already overflowing cup. "Oh, sorry!"

He quickly tried to stop the flood with a napkin and found the battle difficult as the juice proceeded to spill over the sides of the table and onto his robes. Hermione chuckled, took out her wand and cleaned the mess right up. "Some Muggle habits die hard, huh?"

Harry returned her smile. She winked and retuned back to her buttered toast. Harry continued to look at her. "Harry? You all right mate?" Seamus asked, nudging Harry in the side.

"What? Oh, yeah, I'm fine. Still a little sleepy, I guess," Harry said.

Seamus nodded and tried to get Harry to join into the other boys' conversation of Quidditch. And all the while as Harry vaguely participated, he distantly thought how Hermione never really liked talking about Quidditch; it bored her to tears. If only that dream of his was real…And Harry strayed again into his daydream, putting Quidditch aside and focusing on his Hermione. If only she was his…

* * *

Harry panted horribly as he went up the many multitudes of steps that circled endlessly upwards. He leaned against the wall, holding his aching side and trying to catch his breath. To think that in fifth year he had to go up these very steps every day. It was incomprehensible! He was glad he wasn't required to take Divination in his Seventh Year. It was a complete waste of time _and_ energy. Harry sighed and forced his throbbing legs to continue up the spiral staircase and up the ladder that would lead him to Trelawney's room.

Even at the bottom of the ladder he could smell the potent reek of incense and heavily scented candles. He always came down from her classes with a small buzz. Bracing himself, he began to climb the ladder. He was on a mission appointed by Professor Flitwick. Apparently, the Professor had forgotten to bring down the pillows for that day's class to practice with. And of course, Professor Trelawney had them up in her room. What lucky (unfortunate) student was willing (forced) to go up to her room to get the pillow? Why Harry! You seem to be willing. Go on, lad, and be quick about it!

Harry had in no way acknowledged the teacher that he was willing to carry out the task. He had looked down at the desk, he had sat on his hands, he had pretended to be preoccupied in other work…and yet Flitwick still had called on him to do it. Today just wasn't Harry's day.

"Professor Trelawney?" Harry called, knocking politely on the door. Stepping inside, he coughed, unaccustomed to the stench of incense that clogged her room.

"Yes? Ah! Harry! I knew you were coming," she remarked, coming towards him in her layers of garments and large trinkets dangling around her neck. She peered at him behind her large thick glasses that clung desperately to keep from falling off her pinched nose. "Is everything well, dear boy? I feel some disturbing aura around you."

Harry tried not to roll his eyes and said instead, "I was sent by Professor Flitwick to get some pillows for our class."

"Ah, of course, dear boy. In fact I've prepared them for you. They are lying over there," she said, waving lazily to a corner of the room where pillows were strewn haphazardly. Harry sighed and walked over to collect the pillows. Shrinking them as quickly as he could (the powerful smell of the room was giving him a horrible headache), he quickly gathered them and put them in his pocket. He turned around to leave the cursed room but stopped startled to see the Divination Professor sitting cross-legged on the floor, palms upward on her knees.

"Professor," Harry said, unsure of what to do. She seemed to be in some sort of mediation. "Professor," he repeated a little louder.

"**He is growing stronger**," she said, however it wasn't her voice. It was as if three different voices each ranging from low to high had merged together to form some sort of distorted, raspy voice that continued to speak slowly then quickened in excitement, "**Darkness rules him inside. Gone is his heart and soul, he had no choice but to surrender them to the dark, and the dark is controlling him now. Powerful and evil, but easily disguised amongst us. Saved he must be, but not by any expected hand. The familiar the touch, the more he recedes inside himself and into darkness. A new touch, an unnatural touch that he has never experience must find his heart and restore it back to him. Else all is lost. All is lost when all threads of humanity is cut from him. And you will be destroyed for he is greater than the Dark Lord**."

She titled her head towards Harry. Her pupils were mere pinpoints in her large eyes magnified with her glasses. The air whirled so wildly that it felt as if the very tails of a tornado were trapped inside the attic room; Harry was nearly lifted off his feet. Loose papers flew around the room, hanging trinkets and other objects that were strung to the rafters of the ceiling swayed dangerously and wildly in the room. Harry tried to grab something that would keep him from flying into a wall or table. He listened in horror as Trelawney continued to speak. Her wild hair flew around her small head, and mysteriously, her glasses stayed perfectly perched on her nose. Harry swung himself out of the way of a flying book that flew past him and hit the wall on his other side. He continued to listen and stared transfixed at Trelawney as she gasped for a raged breath and started to predict quicker, her voice growing louder and the wind blowing dangerously faster.

"**The new Dark Lord shall he be. He shall be a hundred times worse than the Dark Lord now. Woman will cower at his power, and love him for his beauty. Men will hate him for taking their wives and children, but bow to him in humble service. They all will watch their world crumble into darkness and blood caused by him, and yet they will surrender to him. Even you cannot stop him, Harry Potter. Another can. Another that is easily overlooked. Another can save us all from this brewing evil**."

And suddenly, she coughed and the whirling air unnaturally halted. All objects suspended in the air fell to the ground, including Harry who hit the floor so hard that his glasses flew off his face.

"My boy, why are you on the floor?" Trelawney asked puzzled, walking over to him. "Good heavens, how could I have let my class get so messy?"

Harry shakily got to his feet and shoved his glasses back onto his face. "Don't you remember…?"

She titled her head and stared at him oddly. "Are you feeling well, Harry Potter? I was hoping that my predictions for the future of your death wouldn't come true. But alas, I can no longer hide from that dread. It's such a shame to see such a young boy like you perish so horribly. This is just the first sign of your death. I have seen it! Yes, I have seen it!"

Proceeding the decree of his painful death (again) she burst into a flood of tears. Harry, knowing this knew prediction was not true, quickly stumbled out of her class, breathing heavily. With his heart pounding, he ran as fast as he could down the stairs, nearly jumping over three steps at a time and sprinted back to Charms class and away from the possessed room of Trelawney.

* * *

"Hermione!" Harry nearly yelled as he ran towards her in the Great Hall. "Hermione!"

"Harry! What's wrong? You're so pale!" she exclaimed, touching his face that was wet with sweat. Grabbing a napkin, she tried to dry his face. His pale face scared her dreadfully. He sat down besides her, breathing heavily.

"She made another prediction," Harry whispered so only Hermione could hear. Hermione leaned in closer to hear him better. "What?" she whispered.

"Remember back in fifth year when I told you that Trelawney made that prediction, my prophecy?" Harry whispered quickly. Hermione nodded her head, eyes growing wide in worry. "She made another one, just now."

Harry started to explain about his trip from the beginning and when he was about to tell Hermione all that he could remember about the prediction, a sudden hush fell over the Great Hall.

Never had the Great Hall been so deadly quiet. Noticing the unnatural silence that had captivated the students and staff of Hogwarts, Hermione and Harry abruptly stopped speaking and looked around. "Why's everyone so quiet?" Harry asked Seamus whose face was fixed on someone at the doors of the Great Hall. Even his whisper sounded like a yell in the large hall.

"Hermione?" another voice spoke through the suffocating quietness. It sounded incredibly familiar.

Hermione's face paled drastically, almost matching Harry's from earlier moments. She opened her mouth but said nothing. She licked her lips and tried again. Nothing.

"Hermione, it's me," said the tall figure before her. His body was lanky and lean, and from the neck down, he looked like Ron. But it couldn't be Ron because it wasn't Ron's face…exactly. His face looked nothing like the old Ron she knew so well. It was hard to describe Ron, but his face was different, more manly and without a doubt more handsome. It wasn't Ron, and yet…it was. Think yourself what a new Ron would be like, and that's what you'll get, for his appearance was viewed differently in each pair of eyes, but in the end it was without a doubt that Ron was devilishly handsome, handsomer than Harry even!

Hermione looked at the strange, alien face and searched for any marking that labeled this new person Ron. His beautiful red hair was still the same, but everything else was different. The mouth, the jaw, the forehead shape, even the ears had changed! It was uncanny. She looked into his eyes and saw the same melting brown that they had always been, and then she knew that it was her Ron.

"Ron…?" she gasped. He nodded, giving her a smile. His smile wasn't the same. It wasn't as large or as goofy. It was rather rugged and cute, leaving a girl feeling weak at the knees. Hermione jumped out of her seat with a shriek of joy and flung herself at Ron who caught her, his new face showing surprise but that he was pleased that she was happy to see him.

The Great Hall burst into a storm of whispers and some giggling. Hermione quickly pulled Ron down to sit in-between her and Harry and they immediately asked the main question: what happened to his face?

"The Healers at St. Mungo's, they said that my face was so horribly burnt that they couldn't fix it back to the original form. So they asked if I wanted to get magic lifting done, free of charge because they had been late in retrieving me from Hogwarts-Otherwise we wouldn't have been able to afford it. Anyway, they didn't have a picture of my face before hand and they were running out of time so they just worked away and I ended up with…this," he said, pointing to his face. He looked at his two friends and nervously asked, "So…what do you think?"

"It's…different," Hermione said, unsure of what to say.

"You don't like it? Of course you don't like it. I knew that they must have done something wrong," he cursed under his breath. His pale skin flushed a light pink. Grabbing her hands, he looked at her and said quickly, "I can save my money and I can get it changed back to normal—"

Hermione placed her hand over his mouth and smiled. Yes, it was still the same Ron, even if the face was a little altered; his heart was still as pure and loving as always. "No, Ron, I do like it. I'm just glad I have my Ron back," she said.

He smiled his new cute smile and leaned down to give her a large, well-deserved kiss.

No one noticed a lone figure separate from the gossiping students of Hogwarts and storm out of the Great Hall, slamming the large door behind him as loud as he possibly could.

* * *

The halls were quiet except for Draco's feet that pounded savagely against the stone floor. He stomped down the stairs and kicked the door open. He didn't know where he was going and he didn't care. All he knew was that he had to get away from that horrid, red head idiot, away from stupid Potter, and above all, away from _her_. A small, young tree stood planted in the middle of his way. Livid, Draco took out his lighter and formed a large fireball. Cupping it between his two pale palms, he made it grow and with all his strength, he threw it at the strong young tree. The fire quickly engulfed it and the tree withered in pain.

A maniac smile covered Draco's face as he watched the fire grow higher and higher and the tree squirm in the fire. Yellow lines glowed under the bark, forming a web of cracks and without warning, the tree shattered into a thousand pieces of flaming twigs, forming small little fires that were quickly chocked by the mist that the forest held at its feet. How could mist put out a fire? Well, this _was _in the magical world, and the Forbidden Forest never was considered a normal forest in the first place. The explosion threw Draco backwards, throwing him down to the ground so hard it knocked the air out of his chest. His head flung back and collided painfully to the ground, and it felt like tiny hammers were pounding in his brain. He laid on his back in the middle of the Forbidden Forest, too angry to feel fear. Besides, he was now powerful enough to destroy whatever was in the Forest .

He had watched with appalled surprise and disgust as the Weasel walked into the Great Hall. It had been deadly quiet. And Draco could see the red head's chest puff out arrogantly, knowing how handsome he waswell, compared to the train wreck appearance he had been before. He watched him strut down the aisle like he always strutted. He watched him pause dramatically and talk dramatically to her. He was such an over actor. And no one else saw it! No one else could see anything that Draco was seeing. And she didn't, she was oblivious to the new Weasels faults.

And then to snog her in the middle of the Great Hall, when people were _eating_ for Merlin's bloody sake! It was enough to make him vomit.

"He certainly cleans up nicely, doesn't he?" Pansy had remarked to him. That had stirred his blood. He had ignored her. It wasn't the fact that Pansy had said it (he certianly didn't care about Pansy's opinion in the first place), but it was the fact that what she said was true in the eyes of all the females, observing every little trait that was knew with Weasley.

Breathing deeply, he got to his feet; the throbbing in his head subsided, his body quietly healing the small scraps he had received from the spray of toothpick size timber (in some events, he didn't have to go through the chocking, coughing, and gagging ritual to cure himself). Yet the fury inside of him was still great. There was just something about the fact that Weasley had changed that angered Draco. Weasley was threatening any firm ground that Draco had in that part of his life. He had always thought Weasley would just grow uglier over the years, and Draco was confident in that. He hadn't really expected Granger to fall for the hideous git and his tricks; he thought she would fall for Potter. That one detail had made his firm ground tremble. And now that Weasley had gotten his face reformed, and described now as "handsome" and "hot", his ground had erupted into an earthquake.

Every person had some sort of territory, figuratively speaking. Draco knew his territory, as did everyone else. And to have Weasley, whose territory had been quite small in the first place, come and try and take part of his land, it angered Draco. It wasn't all at once, but Draco could feel him take it away from him, blade by blade, pebble by pebble, so small that it was hardly noticeable at first, until he looked at his land again and saw how small it had become and how large Weasley's had grown.

Was that the reason? Was it because Weasley was a serious threat to him? Or was it something else? Something deep inside him told him that there was something else that was the _true _reason to why this whole episode was boiling his blood. There was something else, something big, something that he couldn't see clearly...or refused to see.

He closed his eyes, trying to block the sight of them together, snogging on the bench. It wasn't like Granger was ever his own. It wasn't like they had gone out, had shagged or anything of the above. They're relationship consisted of name-calling, hexes, and Head duties. That was it. But Draco felt as if he had some sort of claim over her, whatever small one there was. It was hard to describe it to the average person because it made complete sense to him in his mind and absolute nonsense when he spoke it out loud.

Maybe it was because now that Weasley had changed so drastically, maybe now Draco was unsure how Hermione would react to this New Weasley. He wasn't sure how it would affect his own social status in the school. How would the Weasel use this to his advantage? How much would Draco have to bleed in order to keep control over all that he had at the moment? Weasley's head was going to inflate larger than Potter's now, how was Draco going to handle this predicament? The red haired Gryffindor was now a very big obstacle in Draco's status in Hogwarts. Competition, Draco always hated it.

He closed his eyes again and trying to calm down. Control…he needed control. And while he tried to regain control, little sounds filtered into his sharp ears. He heard _her_ giggling as the freak nuzzled her neck. He heard _her_ moan when the idiot kissed her. He heard _her_ sigh dreamily when the loser wrapped his arms around her waist and said nothing important into her ears.

And in the darkness, images formed in the dim haze and glowed into bright, taunting pictures. He saw her smirk at him when she was held in the red head's arms. He saw her making fun of him with Weasley by her side. He saw her blush when the jerk whispered that he loved her. It was a lie, Draco knew it; she didn't. It was that innocence that he saw stained by the arrogant Gryffindor that really lit his blood on fire. Weasley was so stupid! Couldn't he see that girls like Granger were out of everyone's reach? That girls like Granger shouldn't be touched? Then again, Weasley was unintelligent, so it didn't really matter if he did see it or not.

He walked back to the castle, composed and cool. He wild eyes were back to their piercing gray. His angry frown retunred to its usual straight line. Every detail that made him him was in order. He was as beautiful as he had ever been.

But inside, he still felt this empty space inside of him that he couldn't fill or find a reason for. And his thoughts always went back to Granger and her boyfriend and how repulsively they acted. He didn't care if Granger chose Weasley. He didn't care how she ruined her life with him any longer. He didn't care if Weasley became more handsome because of magic lifting. He didn't care if the two graduated and got married and had a litter of frizzy red haired, brown-eyed mutants. Straightening himself, he walked back into Hogwarts, pushing the Gryffindor lovers out of his mind. He _hated_ Granger, he _loathed_ Potter and he _abhorred_ Weasley. Simple, short and pure truth…

So why did he still care?

* * *

**A/N: **:sigh: Again, I'm sorry for taking such a long time to update. I have ZERO time to write anymore, and the only reason why you guys are getting this chapter now is because I've been sick for the past week. And yes, coughing and puking, I've been writing this story for you. And so, if you find this chapter horrible, especially the concept of the plot in this chapter, I would love to blame it on that nasty bug that's been plaguing me. :points to sick, green bug huddling on Pensive Puddles' shoulder: He made me do it! So you can throw whatever objects meant for me at him instead:Bug squeals: Hehe, I guess there _is _a use for you after all...

And just because I've never done this in any of my other fics and I think it's a rather sweet idea:

**Babmidnight**: Thanks for sticking to this story chapter by chapter! You've been so loyal to me so far…:sniff: you have no idea how wonderful it is to have someone who reads my work and really does give her true opinion about it every time. I don't have anything to give you-A hah:thrusts last packet of Instant Coffee to Babmidnight: I don't know if you like coffee, but accept this last packet as a token as my gratitude for reading my work. May it energize you and keep you awake like it's doing me! And just as a forewarning, never drink it on an empty stomach….ugggg…And just to let you know, I changed chapter four a little and I wrote that she did use her wand to use that water spell. Sorry to disappoint you that she isn't a controller. And yes, it has to be Dark Magic in order to control an element; at least that's how I'm viewing it. But knowing me, I'll probably change it later… :sigh: I never can please myself. But I'm glad that you're one of those people who like to read my rambling about something for pages and pages on end!

**ZmajGoddess**: The only HP fic you've read so far? Wow! And it's MINE! BIG WOW! Thank you so much and I hope you enjoy this story as a whole (hopefully I'll get it done sometime…)

**Lady Serpent**: I'm thinking about it…:grins evily: after all, this story is not going in any certain direction (considering I still don't know where it's going to go) but I'll just tell you that I'm still thinking about that little point…it could happen. I'm not saying it will though….but it could…;) And just so it doesn't drive you batty anymore: OOC means Out Of Character. Believe me, it took me months to figure out what it meant. It also took me nearly a year to figure out that when they put TBC at the bottom it meant To Be Continued….or R&R meant Read & Review…yeah, I'm a sad case, that I am.

**Anastasia Ju-Bok**: Thank you for you review! I never really plan what I'm going to write. That part in chapter 4 didn't have anything to do with the story really. My fingers just kinda took me there. I'm glad you enjoy those little small clips though, I enjoy writing them ;)

And thanks also to **Winnifred Dumbledore**, **Liz**, **HoNeYnSwEeTs**, **Ellie** (thanks for sticking by my side for so long!), **Kace08**, and **glitter and stardust** for reviewing for chapter four! Oh, and **Ptrst**, but I did put up up at the top...

That's all I think…

If you'd like me to email you when the next chapter comes up, please let me now. If you're a signed reviewer, I've gotten your email addresses from your homepages, but sometimes the ones up on your site don't work so I can't let you know when the story updates (and I know what it's like to loose a story and can't remember what it's called or anything. Happens to me all the time and it sucks every time…) so if you'd just leave me your address, I'll write to you whenever I update, especially those who don't sign in or don't have email addresses on their sights. Just in case you want to…J

Thanks for reading! And please be so kind as to review for this chapter and give me your thoughts, criticism, alerts on spelling errors or anything of the like (do you know that Ron's eyes are actually brown? And here I thought they were blue….:sigh: oh well. I fixed all that now…)


	6. New Secrets

**Cry Me Tears of Fire**

_By Pensive Puddles _

Ron rolled over in his bed, pulling his pillow tighter across his face to muffle an irritated groan. He hated the sun, especially in the morning. He reached for the curtains that surrounded his bed and yanked them closed. Sighing in relief, he settled back into bed. Sleep…good…dark…good…sleep…

Baring his teeth like a vampire exposed to the sun, he hissed when the curtains ripped apart again, letting the light stream down onto his face. Ron groaned louder as the sounds of other students preparing for school filled his ears. Some people _really_ shouldn't sing in the shower.

Fighting a losing battle, Ron finally rolled out of bed, reaching towards the ground and picking up yesterday's uniform and slowly getting back into the morning routine. Yawning, Ron stared at himself in the mirror. He shook his head, having to look twice in the mirror. Reaching up to touch his face, Ron watched how the boy mimicked his own moves. Slowly, it dawned on him that this was his reflection. This odd, new boy was _him_.

He let his fingers run along the smooth skin of his jaw. His face was shaped differently, and it felt very foreign. Ron had to admit that, even though he had been pleased when he had received good reactions for his new appearance, deep down, he really didn't like it. It was difficult to adjust to such a new face. It obviously didn't take everyone else long, and in a way, it hurt Ron's feelings. Didn't anyone miss his old face, or had he been so ugly that people really preferred this new one?

His looked at the changes, admiring them. Well, maybe he did like his new face. It was more handsome, more dashing. After he pondered the case more, he slowly admitted that didn't really like how he had changed so drastically in such a short amount of time. He liked himself before hand. True, there were some things that he had longed to change, but not _this_ extreme. And those little quirks, those things he hated about himself, those were the things that made him Ron Weasley. Not everyone could look like him. Everything that was old and familiar was outrageously different, and he felt he didn't even know himself anymore. It still shocked him to watch his new reflection move and scrunch to express himself, hell, even the desired expressions didn't have the same character he was used to. Then again, he had only had the surgery a couple of days ago. He'd get used to it eventually, the doctors had told him.

Still…something kept nagging at him.

Ron watched his reflection and shrugged. Hermione liked it when she saw it. She didn't show any signs of dislike. And as long as she liked him, that's all that mattered.

Quickly brushing his bedridden hair, he left his room to go to the Great Hall to eat breakfast. Even if his face had altered, his appetite hadn't. His stomach growled in agreement. He greeted his peers, wondering why many of the girls that had never talked to him in the past seemed to go out of their way to wave to him or shoot him a smile; as he walked towards the door, his mind set on a plate of bacon, eggs, toast and any other morsel of food he could devour. After having to eat those abominable meals that St. Mungo's had tried to pass off as food, Hogwarts food had never seemed so appetizing.

"Ron! Wait up!" a soft voice called. He paused and turned to see a girl rush towards him, hair flying behind her shoulders. She stopped in front of him, brushing stray locks of hair away from her face. She flashed him a large smile. "Good morning."

"Morning, Lavender," he said, turning towards the exit. Food…hot, tasty food…

"Can I walk with you? To the Great Hall, I mean?" she asked, blushing slightly. Ron gave her a puzzled look – why was she acting so strange? – but politely nodded, slowing down so she could keep up with him. She gave him another smile, and quickly looked away. Ron tried to hide his perplexity, but was finding it rather difficult. He tried to pay attention to her as she attempted to make conversation, but his stomach was twisting in hunger. He focused on her voice, nodding every now and then, but he wasn't quite sure what they were talking about. He vaguely noticed that her hand kept brushing against his every now and then, but he passed it off that she was tired from lack of food, causing imbalance. After all, the last time they had eaten was last night, and to Ron, that was a very long time ago. His feet naturally quickened their pace as his stomach growled again.

She giggled and then started to talk about how her stomach growled whenever she was hungry. _Doesn't everybody's?_ Ron thought while she continued to ramble over Merlin knew what.

Finally reaching the Great Hall, Ron walked Lavender to one of the seats at the table and then left to sit next to Hermione. His girlfriend glanced at him twice before smiling. He returned the smile, although his heart truly wasn't in it. Again, he thought back to his face. But she did like it; she said so yesterday didn't she?

"Ron!" she giggled as he wrapped an arm around her waist and nuzzled his face in the crook of her neck. "Not at the table!"

"Come on, Hermione," he whined, pulling her closer and kissing her lightly on the lips. "It's been forever since I've been able to hold you."

"It hasn't even been a week," she remarked, unable to keep the smile off her face as he started to play with her hair. "How are you going to survive the Christmas break without me?"

"Are you sure you won't come to the Burrow for Christmas? Harry's coming. And even Charlie and Bill are coming back. It'll be fun," he said, trying to coax her into accepting his proposal.

"Ron, I told you that I couldn't go this winter. I need to finish up my research project. It's incredibly crucial for my N.E.W.T.s. And you should be thinking about studying. I mean, they _are_ just around the corner," she said, biting into her toast.

"Yeah, in five months." He opened his mouth, and she grinned as she inserted her toast into his mouth. He took a bite, and chewing quickly, pleaded, "Please come. You can work on your report at the Burrow. I want you there for Christmas. It'll be our last Hogwarts Christmas, you know?"

She sighed. "I know, and I wish I could. But you know me…"

"Fine. But if you do get bored sitting here during Christmas – which I know you will – Dad can always come and get you in a second," he said and let go of her as Harry sat down. "Morning, mate!"

"Morning, Ron," Harry mumbled, blindly reaching for a mug and the coffee pot. Creating a strong concoction of coffee, sugar, and milk, Harry took a large mouthful and swallowed it slowly. Sighing, he opened his eyes and smiled at his friends, eyes glowing from the sudden caffeine rush. "Did you finally persuade Hermione to come back to the Burrow with us?"

She giggled as Ron groaned, indicating that the situation was hopeless. Harry chuckled. "Don't worry," he said, ruffling his black hair, "she'll reconsider. By the way, Ron, don't you have detention tonight?"

Ron groaned again and both Hermione and Harry laughed as their friend attempted to smother himself into Hermione's shoulder, tears of frustration leaking from his eyes. "Two hours…with Filch…baby, if you love me, you'll kill me now," he begged, giving Hermione a very teary-eyed puppy dog look. Hermione only giggled and kissed the tip of his nose.

:-:-:-:-:-:-:

Plants…they may be useful for breathing and can occasionally be pretty to look at, but when they tried to bite your finger off, they weren't as wonderful as many deemed them to be. How Professor Sprout could enjoy growing these foul beasts day in and day out was hard to believe. After all, people could only handle so much of a plant trying to nibble you when you weren't looking… where was the joy in that?

Draco quickly jerked his hand back as one of the plants tried to nip at his fingers. He glared at it. "Little bugger," he muttered. "It's not like this is a highlight of my life either. I mean, I'm getting the short end of the stick here. After all, you're just being watered with some dumb potion to help you grow – for reasons beyond my understanding, and I've got to give it to you. And you try and bite my finger off for it! Merlin, I'm surprised that giant hasn't kept you as a pet yet; I've heard he likes man-eating things like you."

He paused. "Draco, you're talking to a plant."

He sighed, looking back at the clock that hung above the door. The numbers were a blur to him. He was so tired. His mind quickly thought of the homework he needed to finish. He could write that Charms essay during Professor Binns class. After all, he rarely noticed when Goyle snored (which is saying something considering Goyle could make the floor vibrate), so why would he notice Draco doing Charms homework?

He bet she was probably the only one who stayed awake for his class…Bloody Merlin! He was doing it _again_! He growled, smacking himself in the forehead, trying to hit the thoughts to the back of his mind if not out. Never had he been so frustrated. Why couldn't he get her out of his head? Every little thing he did or thought always ended up back to her. He didn't know why. If he was sitting in one of his classes, bored out his mind, he'd wonder what Potter was doing and he'd scheme how he could torture him. And thoughts of Potter always stumbled accidentally into Granger.

Well, for all excuses, she was an interesting creature. After all, she was a mudblood, yet amazingly, she was one of the smartest witches since Rowena Ravenclaw. She was unique; Draco had to admit. The way she never really liked to be noticed, it always mystified him. Yes, Hermione Granger was a complex puzzle, and Draco had always been fascinated by puzzles, almost as much as the Dark Arts. But this puzzle was a walking, talking, breathing puzzle that had many pieces. Sometimes, he'd feel as if he had finally completed her, only to find a couple pieces that never fit perfectly and he'd suddenly realize that if he put them somewhere else, he'd come up with a whole different picture. It had been hard enough trying to make a picture in the first place. She was one entertaining piece of work.

Draco hissed as little teeth pierced through his gloves and pricked his skin. Shifting back away from the blood sucking plant, Draco ripped off his glove and sucked his finger while glaring at the monster that seemed to look at him smugly. Wait a second, plants had no faces…how could they look at him smugly?

Damn metaphors…

Draco glared at the hissing plant, baring its small little teeth at him. Oh, he was going to burn it, yes he was…

"You took too big of a bite, little guy. Prepare to burn," he said evilly, pulling out his lighter. He watched sadistically as the little plant tried to squirm away from the boy with the flaming palm. Draco vaguely noticed that he was getting quicker at summoning and shaping his fire element. "You asked for it! No one bites a Malfoy and lives to tell the tale."

He heard the door open and he quickly swallowed the small fireball in his hand. He opened his palm, waiting to see charred skin but was immensely surprised to see his skin smooth and flawless. He nodded in satisfaction. Yes, he powers must be growing somehow. Blaise was wrong in accusing him that he was incapable of controlling himself. Well, ok, that table incident and the Weasel were different…he had been provoked!

A short, irritated sigh reached his ears and he looked up to see who the intruder was who had stopped the burning of a plant. "Granger?" he questioned.

She didn't reply but instead went quickly over to the cupboard and started to rummage around for something. Deciding that the blood sucking plant could wait, he got off the ground, brushed himself off and went over to lean against the cupboard she was searching through. All the while, he noticed how her skirt somehow didn't hike up like most girls, revealing more skin than allowed. What a strange girl…

_And so stubborn!_ he thought as he noticed how she purposefully kept her gaze searching amongst the shelves for whatever she was looking for. "Come now, Granger, don't be so civil," he remarked sarcastically.

"It's not like I want to start a conversation with you anyway. How's detention going? Bet you've never done a hard days work in your life, have you, you spoiled brat?" she remarked, giving him a sickening sweet smile. He raised an eyebrow, trying not to show his aggravation, although he had to admit it was quite hard. She gave a little smirk and went back to looking for Merlin-knew-what.

"I saw that the Weasel tried to improve his looks. I'm sure, you being the honest Gryffindor girl that you are, told him that he still looks like a train wreck. After all, no amount of magic could improve his atrocious features. What _do_ you see in him?" he remarked and smirked as he saw her movements become stiff and jerky. He was definitely twisting a nerve. "Oh well, birds of a feather, I suppose. I mean, it would be absolutely humiliating if he tried to go for someone beautiful like Pansy, better stick to someone in his own level, or for more self esteem, _below_."

Next thing he knew, Hermione's wand was pressing painfully under his chin. Her wild eyes were swimming with hate and anger. Her nostrils flared slightly she was breathing so hard. "One more word and I swear…" she left the threat hanging.

He leaned forward. "Do it. I _dare_ you."

She continued to breathe angrily, glaring at him with all the hate she could muster. He tried to suppress the urge to swallow nervously. Witch or not, angry females were never a good thing. He took a step closer, trying to intimidate her.

"Do it. No one's here. You can easily blame it on one of the plants or something. I'm sure your lying tongue can think up something clever. After all, you've done it plenty of times for your idiotic friends." He filled the last comment with bitterness above all emotions. He took another step and leaned further down until his face was so close that she could feel his hot breath tickle her skin. His eyes narrowed in curiosity as he whispered, "What's stopping you?"

He watched the battle in her eyes. He could see the desire to hex him, but also the reasonable, logical side of her conscience trying to soothe her hatred. And he could see, amongst the small battle, a hint of something he couldn't place his finger on. Fear? Was she scared of him? Or something else…maybe he was just imagining it. "What's stopping you," he paused, and now so close that he whispered into her ear, "Mudblood?"

He slowly breathed her in, taking in the scent and remembering what it had felt like to hold her around her throat those few days ago. He wished he could do it again, and he didn't know why he wished for it either. Her fear…he fed off her fear, that was the only explanation he could think of. And there was something else. Something inside of him told him that he wanted to feel her skin under his palms. He wanted to tug and pull her hair, tangle his fingers amongst her wild locks. He wanted to scan every shape, every dent, every mark on her skin and memorize it. He wanted to hold her close and feel how she fit in his arms. Even now he had this compelling, deep desire to rip her wand out of her hands and hold her and touch her and kiss her.

Merlin, what was _wrong_ with him? He pulled away, startled, as the desire became nearly unbearable to control. He didn't notice that all the hate that swirled in her eyes before was gone, and yet she continued to breathe unevenly and heavily. He didn't dare glance at her, ashamed at how he nearly had lost control of himself. Why did she have this effect on him?

They both jumped as a bell went off out of nowhere. Both Draco and Hermione pulled out their wands, on alert for anything. They had been told vaguely about these bells throughout the year. It meant that something dangerous, or _someone_ was on the grounds of Hogwarts. A flashing red light caught their attention and the two went toward it to look down into an open door with steps leading down into darkness. Hermione quickly went down and pulled Draco inside. Detecting no other human on the garden house floor, the garden house closed the hidden door, casting the two teens into darkness.

All sound was cut off and neither of them dared attempt to use their wands to produce any light. If they pretended that they weren't there, then maybe whatever it was on the grounds wouldn't find them. Draco already knew what had invaded Hogwarts' peaceful territory. It was a Dark no-brainer.

Death Eaters.

"They're coming for me, oh god, they're here for me! It's because of that book. But I lost the book. Ohmigod, ohmigod, ohmigod," she repeated under her breath. Draco searched the dark for her and he saw her huddled figure, pressed against the corner of the safe room, clawing at the corners with one hand and shielding her head with the other. He watched fascinated as she trembled horribly, and a wave of what felt like pity swept over him.

"Granger – "

"Sh!" she hushed. She looked up at him, their eyes accustomed to the dimness. He could see her brown eyes glassy and fearful. "They'll hear you. They want me. But I don't want to go. Who'd want to go anyway? Don't say my name. Don't say anything. They'll find me. They can detect me. Can't you hear them? I can hear them in the earth, their footsteps. Sh! They're coming. The Professors don't know that we're out here. They'll lock us out of the castle! Ohmigod, they're coming!"

During her deranged speech, Draco had crawled closer to her. Maybe he could stun her; it'd save both of them. What was she rambling about anyway? He had never seen Granger lose control like she was now. He could hear her uneven breaths, quick and deep.

Suddenly, she stopped. And she whispered something so quiet that he almost didn't hear it. But he did, and it froze his insides. "I know your secret."

"What?" he said after a stunned pause.

She uncovered herself from her personal sanctuary. "I know what power lies within you. And they want it as well. Power…that's all they care about. Disgusting really. It makes me feel like we're all pawns."

He was more alarmed and shocked that she had spoken the exact words he thought daily than he was surprised that she knew of his powers. "I don't believe you. I'm just an ordinary wizard, well, minus the fact that I'm a Pureblood…and you…"

He didn't have to finish; she knew what he would have said. She shook her head and gave a weak, sad chuckle. "You don't get it, do you? He doesn't care about blood any longer. After all, he's just a mix himself, but of course, he tends to forget that _small _fact when he murders hundreds of thousands just like him," she said in disgust as she brushed her hair out of her face. She looked up at him, detecting his pale eyes in the dark room. "He'll use anyone who can finish the job for him. He's too weak to complete it himself."

"I…" Draco stopped and stared at her. He scooted away from her and leaned against the wall. Folding his arms across his chest and giving her a confident stare, he stated, "I don't believe you."

"Wait and see, then. But don't say that I didn't tell you," she said, an eerie grin pulling at her lips. Draco suppressed the urge to shudder and instead looked at anything but her. He closed his eyes, letting his mind drift to other things. His father probably wasn't with the Death Eaters in this raid. Draco snorted mentally. He wouldn't be surprised if Lucius used him to avoid attacking Hogwarts. Lucius never did like the magical school. "It'll throw Draco's identity in jeopardy if they see me!" he'd probably say, referring to Draco's marking.

_Like he cares anyway_, Draco thought bitterly. Lucius was afraid of his own shadow now, especially since his replica became stronger than him. No more beatings, no more lectures, no more anything because Draco now had the power to turn the tables and make Lucius squeal on the floor, bleed unnecessarily, twist unnaturally in agony.

He titled his head back in hopes to take a small little nap. He knew that if the Death Eaters did find him, they wouldn't harm, unless they wanted to face Voldemorte's unforgiving and deadly wrath.

He wished Blaise or Pansy were with him. He needed to hear a joke, no matter how corny, come from Blaise's mouth. Or even just to feel Pansy's kiss him across his jaw and along his lips was a happy thought. Those two were the only ones who knew about Draco's family problems. In the sense that his family lacked the ability to love, that is. Pansy was familiar with the neglected feelings Draco felt towards his father. After all, her father was with Lucius during all the same meetings.

Blaise could possibly be considered the most normal out of the trio. Unlike many pureblood families who only had a couple children, Blaise came from a family of five children, two Labradors, a Persian cat and one nanny for the twin two year olds. Draco one commented that the Zabini twins would likely give the Weasley twins a run for their money when they got older. And let's not forget the important factor that the Zabini parents were actually home most of the time to give their children the affection that Draco and Pansy tended to lack in their family. Blaise never suffered from neglect, but he possessed a sense of character that was unlike any person Draco had come across. He understood Pansy and Draco more than either of the two knew themselves. It was slightly alarming when they pondered it, however, slightly comforting to know that someone took the time to care about their well being.

And somehow, the Zabini residence was considered a safe haven to Draco and Pansy. There were many secret rooms that the family had forgotten about (which was quite common with Pureblood family mansions), and Draco remembered one room specifically where the three would spend summer days together, and where Draco would spend summer nights with Pansy if they both decided to sleep over. Blaise had kept to his own business during the times when Pansy and Draco would pick up their little fling again every so often. After all, he tended to take care of his younger siblings most of the time anyway. Blaise was the model older brother, although he made sure that his tenderness towards his siblings was kept silent. It wouldn't do at all for knowledge of a soft Slytherin to trickle amongst unfriendly ears. Advantages were always something a Slytherin tried to avoid in his life of growing up in Hogwarts, and the method tended to stick even after schooling was over.

"Malfoy!" Granger hissed in his ear. Startled, Draco swatted at her in defense and knocked her down. She made a small hiss as her elbow collided painfully against the floor and he could feel her glare accusingly up at him. Ignoring the feeling of guilt and squashing the urge to help her up (What would her hand feel in his, he wondered?), Draco snapped moodily, "What?"

"You feel asleep, I take it," she observed, still rubbing her elbow.

"Thank you, Mudblood, for pointing out the obvious," he replied scornfully.

"Quiet! Someone's coming!" she whispered, quickly getting on her knees and drawing her wand in defense. Draco stiffened and pulled out his own wand as well. He kept to the side, focusing on the door above them, but his eyes tended to stray over to her. She made a rather gallant figure on bended knee, wand ready, eyes filled with the desire to save the world and die gloriously, hair static with energy. A small breeze played across his face and he wondered if the door was opening to cause the draft. He noticed the light of the door crack open and he tightened his grip on his wand, staying in the shadows. He small voice in his head told him to pull her to the side, avoiding danger. But his mind and his Slytherin wantonness prevented him from lifting a finger in her direction.

The door swung open and Hermione cried out a spell that Draco couldn't catch. A gust of wind shot off from inside room and blew whatever intruder away from the entry and sent it crashing into something, causing multiply shattering sounds. Sprinting up the steps, Hermione let out a small squeak of dismay and Draco watched as she disappeared from view.

"Stupid girl!" he muttered as he heard some sort of scrambling that involved crashing pots and other materials. Quickly hoping that it wasn't a Death Eater that Draco had to murder and frame in order to protect his loyalty and Granger, he went up the steps with his wand ready to kill.

"Oh Professor McGonagall, I'm terribly sorry! I didn't mean to attack you. I thought it was something that had invaded the grounds. Oh, I'm dreadfully sorry!" Hermione babbled, trying to help her professor up and untangle herself from a mixture of plants, vines, and other questionable plantlike things.

Rubbing her head, the old Professor got to her feet and sighing said, "It's quite all right, Miss Granger. It's with a good heart and head that you did what you have done, and I don't hold you culpable in the least, especially if it had been a Death Eater. Speaking of which, the Headmaster has ordered all the students to their dormitories where they will be kept safe. The intruders have left the grounds, but it's only for a precaution. All activities have been canceled and everyone is to go to bed early tonight. Headmaster Dumbledore will come to each House later and set down the rules and other things concerning tomorrow's departures for vacation. As Heads, it's your job to help the Professors to round the students up and send them back to their Common Rooms. Yes, that means that your detention has been cut short for today," the Professor said, casting a critical eye on Draco. "Once you finish that, you are ordered to your own Head Rooms until Headmaster Dumbledore says otherwise. Is everything clear?"

"Yes, Professor," the two Heads replied automatically. Nodding and hobbling a little slower than usual, Professor McGonagall lead the students out of the garden house and back into Hogwarts.

:-:-:-:-:-:-:-:

Hermione walked quickly down the halls, checking all the known hidden safety doors in the castle. Most of the students had been sent to their rooms already, but she had found a couple terrified first years huddled in a broom closet. She had kindly directed them back to their common rooms and told them calmly that everything was going to be all right.

Of course, she didn't feel anything of the sort.

Her face blushed as she remembered her humiliating break down in the safety room of the green house. She was ashamed of how she had lost control, especially in front of Malfoy. And admitting that she knew of his powers! What was he going to do to her? She knew that he was capable of things that her mind refused to think of. After all, he did have the strength, not only magicwise but also provisionwise according to numbers and set-ups. He had the Dark Lord on his side. He could easily kill her and make it look like an accident.

She breathed shakily as her heart quivered in her chest when she recalled that one moment in the garden house, before the attack. She had gone down to get something for her Advanced Potions assignment. Snape was giving once a week, after school teachings on Potions to those who needed to boost their grades or improve their skills. Supposedly, and most likely, Dumbledore had asked him (more like ordered him) to help out the students since the war was brewing quicker and every bit of strength was needed.

She hadn't expected Malfoy to be serving detention in the Herbology room. It of course had to be her luck that he had to be tending the plants that night, hadn't it? Her heart had fallen deep to the bottom of her stomach when she opened the door and saw Draco leaning down amongst the plants, undershirt stained with small finger prints of dirt and button up shirt and cloak folded neatly on a table near by.

But that threat…a shiver ran up her spine as she thought about it. Did he have any idea how he affected her? She hoped not. Again, she had felt his power inside of him. She knew it was growing. She could feel it. She wanted it. And when he had whispered into her ear again, she knees had nearly buckled. She didn't know what had kept her from grabbing onto him for support. What would it feel like to have that power inside of her like it was inside of him? She wondered if she touched him, would that power flow even just a little bit into her? She wasn't disgusted by the idea either. In fact, it was very tempting.

Swallowing uncomfortably, she decided to check for lost students near the Room of Requirement on the third floor just for good measure. After all, that room was becoming more popular now that more people knew of its existence.

_Don't think of Mafoy._

_Think of Ron._

_Thinking of kissing Ron._

_Thinking of holding Ron._

Malfoy's lips against my ear… NO! Ron! Think Ron! THINK RON! 

"Oh Ron!" a high voice sighed dramatically. "I'm so scared! What if they're inside the castle at this very moment?"

Hermione paused and looked around the corner. Down the hall, oblivious to her presence, Ron and Lavender walked away from her. The pretty brunette was standing a little too close for Hermione's comfort and she watched with angry, narrowed eyes as Lavender continued to inch her way closer to Ron, nearly grabbing his hand with her free hand, while biting the nails of the other.

_I hope she gets poisoned from her nail polish_! she thought vengefully.

"Lavender, it's fine. Dumbledore said that they aren't in the castle. We'll be fine."

"Do you _really_ believe what he says?" Lavender replied, looking up at him with wide eyes.

"Yes, I do. Although I have to admit there are times when I've believed he's off his rocker," Ron remarked. Lavender gave a shrill, giggle, swatting playfully at him. Hermione dug her nails into the wall she was gripping.

"Oh, Ron! You're such a comedian, even in a serious time like this. I like that about guys like you," she said, getting closer and finally being bold enough to take his hand.

"Uh…Lavender?" Ron said, slightly alarmed.

"I'm sorry. I'm just so scared! I mean, I don't know if the others are safe, if they haven't been killed yet or something. And I don't know where Parvati is. I won't lie, Ron, sometimes I wonder why I was put in Gryffindor because I'm not really that brave. I'm _nothing_ like you or Harry! I mean, look at me, I'm crying! I've let my House down," the girl whimpered and broke into hysterical sobs.

"Lavender, it's ok," Ron said, patting her awkwardly on her back. He never was good with hysterical girls. Lavender threw herself at him and embraced him. Ron was stiff for a moment and then returned the hug and comfortingly rubbed her back. "I know I feel like this all the time when Harry and I are stuck in pretty bad jams."

_What about me?_ Hermione asked, her heart twisting painfully. Didn't it matter that she was always there to help them or get them out of those nasty jams?

"You know," Lavender said quietly, pulling back to look up at him. "You really know what to say at the right time."

Hermione watched appalled and shocked as Lavender stood on the tip of her toes and kissed Ron on the lips. It was a gentle kiss which she deepened. And Hermione watched in horror as Ron started to return the kiss after a small pause.

_Pull away…_

_He'll pull away, Hermione. He will. He's your boyfriend and he's loyal…_

Pull away, Ron… 

_…_

_…_

_…_

_He's not pulling away…_

Hermione didn't wait to see if Ron did pull away eventually, whether for understanding his betrayal or for a breath of air. All Hermione heard was his and Lavender's moans as they kissed passionately. Tears blurring her vision, Hermione sprinted to her Common Room, her feet barely touching the ground as she sped through the castle. No one was in the halls, and if anyone did see her, they would have been too absorbed in their own safety to question why a tear-filled Hermione was running down the halls.

_Ron…you've betrayed me._

And the thought that pounded over and over in Hermione's head seemed to disperse into the air and travel back to Ron, hitting him so hard that he literally shoved Lavender off of him. Caught off guard, Lavender stumbled and landed on her bottom, looking up at him puzzled.

"I'm sorry. This shouldn't have happened," Ron said and quickly walked away, leaving a confused girl sitting in the third-floor hall by herself.

Ron ran a hand through his hair, angry at what he had done. He paused and leaned against the wall. What had he been _thinking_! He hadn't meant for that to happen at all. He and Harry had met in the Room of Requirement earlier just to talk and spend some quality time together. Harry had to leave. Ron wasn't quite sure why, but all he knew was that he had found himself alone in the Room of Requirement. When he was about to leave, he had bumped into Lavender. He didn't question why she was up there and it wasn't his business to ask. When the two were about to leave, the bell went off and Lavender started to panic. Ron immediately dragged the sobbing girl back to the Room of Requirement and they waited there until they though the coast was clear.

He had to admit that kissing Lavender was something he had once dreamed of experiencing. She was, after all, quite a beautiful girl. Girls like her never looked in Ron's direction once, and never twice. Eyes like those were always fixed on handsome people like Harry, and to his annoyance, Malfoy. So to come back to school and find attractive females like Lavender attracted to him, it was over whelming! Never had he had to deal with situations like that, and he was totally unprepared. And he had gone about it in the wrong way.

Anger filled him as he thought of Lavender. Damn it, that girl could put his relationship with Hermione in jeopardy! And he wasn't willing to throw such a good relationship that he had been longing to have for years away just because of one spur of the moment kiss.

Ron got off the wall, taking a few deep breaths before continuing to walk down the hall and back to the Gryffindor House. And as his feet walked steadily down the empty halls, his mind came up with a solution to all his problems:

Kill Lavender.

…

…

…

All right, so maybe that wasn't the best solution…

Ok, so it wasn't a solution at all! But the thought _was_ appealing.

No one could know. No one was allowed to know of the incident on the third floor, and he'd deny anything that Lavender said. After all, it was a he-said/she-said case, and people knew of Lavender's infamous ability to absurdly exaggerate the truth. And besides, he had Harry on his side. And Hermione was still loyal to him, especially since she knew nothing of the incident.

"Just because you got your face changed, Weasley, doesn't mean I won't recognize that outrageously offensive hair of yours," drawled a familiar voice. Ron tried to remain calm as Malfoy continued to speak, "You're supposed to be in your Common Room. 10 points from Gryffindor."

_Keep silent, that way you won't get any more _unfair_ points deducted_, he reasoned silently in his head.

"Get to your room before I dock more points from you," Malfoy warned in annoyed voice, shooing Weasley away. Ron marched onward, imagining wrapping his hands around Malfoy's neck and twisting it to an unnatural angle.

Yes, no one would know of the incident.

And Ron, despite being nagged at by the irritable Malfoy, walked with a bounce in his step. There was no need to worry about his and Hermione's relationship falling apart. He was confident in that now.

:-:-:-:-:-:-:

Draco watched with a peculiar expression on his face as he watched the transformed red-head nearly skip down the halls. "He was always a weird one," Draco mused silently before walking back to his room.

Yawning, he hoped that all the students were in their rooms. He didn't want to get blamed if one of them was killed on account that he didn't check every freaken' room of Hogwarts. Merlin's sake, he didn't think that Dumbledore himself knew how many rooms were in Hogwarts!

Nice, soft bed…and he could sleep in tomorrow—

He groaned. Pansy and Blaise were leaving tomorrow. He'd probably have to see them off, more for Pansy's sake than Blaise's. Sometimes Pansy could be the most charming girl Draco ever came across, but most of the time, she was just damn irritating. He wondered if she was going to expect a Christmas present from him. He sighed, knowing that she was. Oh well, maybe he could make Blaise get it for him. He didn't want to do the shopping himself.

Draco never was happier in seeing the portrait that guarded the Heads entrance. It was a different style portrait than the others that Draco had seen hanging around Hogwarts. The Heads picture bore no face or person. In fact, it was just a frame that appeared to hold a storm inside of it. Gray and dark black clouds swirled together and amongst each other in a vortex. It was calming to watch the tranquil display, like watching water fall: the same but always changing. And it appeared to be nothing else but that, or so it led itself to believe.

"_Pan Valere_," Draco said and the portrait appeared to ripple. A bleak, engraved face appeared in the storm. Its eyes were blank and its face was empty and void of all emotion.

"State second password," the face said in a soft monotone.

"_Vorare amni_," Draco said his own personal password. The first password that he had stated was the password to activate the portrait. The second, each Head had their own personal password.

"Welcome, Draco," the face said, its voice becoming more human like. It smiled, and somehow, the empty eyes gave the impression that it was looking at the young boy in fondness. "Something is wrong."

"What do you mean?" he asked slightly alarmed. The face smiled calmly, and simply said, "She needs your help."

The face disappeared and the gray storm seemed to slide downwards like water against a window. Draco had the impression that he would get wet if he stepped into it. Nonetheless, he walked through it and was slightly unnerved to find himself in the middle of the common room, dry. Something caught his eye and he ducked out of the way, a reflex he had improved since his second year of Quidditch.

Suddenly, he noticed how oddly windy it was in their common room. Draco cowered on the ground, hiding behind the couch as another book swirled in his direction, flying over him and smacking cruelly against the wall. He glanced upward and gasped in shock. Books, pieces of stray paper, pillows, some quills and what appeared to be a small lamp whirled in a tornado-like fashion in the air. And in the eye of the tornado whirled Granger, her arms holding herself, hair twirling wildly around her face. It appeared as if she was being consumed by the wind.

"Granger!" Malfoy yelled, but found his voice practically muted in the wind. He watched helplessly as the wind continued to pick up speed, and he held onto the couch for support, praying that it wouldn't lift up into the air as well. "Granger!" he yelled fruitlessly again.

He tried to aim his wand steadily at her in an attempt to stun her. But the wind was so strong that his wand flew out of his hand and was lost in the whirlwind. Frustrated, he tried to think of what to do. Something was wrong. He needed to get her down, now. The wind was only increasing its speed and Draco knew it would probably turn into a true tornado if he didn't stop her.

Crawling on all fours, Draco tried to get to the eye of the minor twister. He could stun her with his fire power; he risked the possibility of burning her, but he had to try. Finding the small center, he was able to quickly muster up his strength and firepower; he shot it up at her. He pulled the fire back quickly and watched it extinguish into the dying winds. Nonetheless, the fire did its trick. With but a lick of its fiery tongue, it stung Hermione painfully enough that it pulled her out of whatever trance she was in, however it didn't burn her delicate skin.

Her heard her give a shriek of startled pain and the wind stopped at an alarming rate. All objects that had been suspended into the air crashed around the room, flying in their own separate direction. Amongst the suspended objects was Granger who fell gracefully from the air and landed in Draco's open arms, and he stood there proudly for a second before falling to the floor. She landed in his lap, her head against his chest.

He tried to regain the breath that had been rudely knocked out of him and looked at the girl who laid limply in his arms. Holding her with one arm, he gently brushed stray locks of hair out of her face and peered down into her tormented visage. Her eyebrows were scrunched in pain or anger, maybe both. Her mouth was pulled into a frown that quivered, as if threatening to unleash a sob. She mumbled something, the words so smashed together that Draco was incapable of understanding what she had said.

Either way, he could tell something was distressing her and he rubbed her arm in a comforting manner. Taking her hands, he rubbed them together, a method he had heard worked to revive people in shock. She opened her eyes long moments afterwards, brown orbs glassy with pained tears.

"What are you going to do to me?" she whispered. Pitying her pathetic figure that was before him, he only continued to rub her hands against his and replied soothingly, "Nothing. Nothing bad will happen to you. Trust me."

"I trusted him… and looked what he did to me. You'll do the same as he. All men are alike," she whispered, staring at him for a moment longer before her eyes rolled into the back of her head and she fell lifelessly in his arms. He caught her, startled at her sudden faint.

If Draco had a weakness, it was probably women like Granger who appeared so helpless and lost. Maybe because their brokenness reflected all too clearly what was inside of him, but either way, he had not the heart to leave her lying in the middle of the common room.

Picking her up, he carried her to her room and quickly put her on her bed. _Accio_ing a blanket, he gently placed it over her. He held his breath, afraid she might wake and panic at finding him in her room as she rolled onto her side. Draco sighed in relief and was about to leave when something caught his eye.

Dark lines wrapped around the corner of her neck. Curious, Draco went to get a closer inspection. Could it be that Hermione Granger had a tattoo on her precious, innocent skin?

Well, that violated all the rules. Good girls like Granger don't have tattoos that cover their neck. If it was a tattoo, then what was it of? Draco felt as if a tattoo really characterized a person. He pulled her hair away and was intrigued at the wispy designs that rose above the collar of her shirt. Some of the lines were thick and somewhere thin, but Draco could tell it was defiantly some sort of descriptive picture. Not knowing if he'd ever get a chance like this again, Draco hurried back into the Common Room and quickly found his wand. Returning, he noticed that the dark lines were fading. Muttering a spell he had used frequently, Hermione's shirt laid in a neat, folded pile at the foot of her bed. He watched in amazement as the tattoo faded from her skin, as if the ink was sinking and disappearing.

But one glance was enough.

He jumped away from her, bumping into the wall loudly. He cursed mentally and hoped she didn't wake up. She only sighed and snuggled deeper into her blanket. Draco took another step closer to her.

What he just saw…no…it couldn't be…could it?

Wanting to be sure, Draco went back to look at the engraving and sure enough, he knew that what he had seen at first was what he had thought it to be. It faded completely from sight. He knew what it was, in perfect detail.

It was a beautiful lady, more magical and nymphlike than anything else. Completely nude, she stood vertically along Hermione's spinal column. Starting from no where, ribbons of wind wrapped around the nymph's body, revealing bits and pieces of the thigh and waist and arms, but covering the lower section of her body and her chest. The nymph's hair blew above her, thick curls twisted in wild directions. The windy ribbons passed around her neck and seemed to thread out amongst her hair like tributaries. Her two arms were held outwards as if dropping something and from her open palms was the wind design, flowing from her finger tips and twisting and turning majestically and designed to appear to be flowing to a certain area, which was in the middle of her back. Above the nymph's body which would be at the bottom of Hermione's neck were bold italicized letters, shaped beautifully to portray the loftiness and clearness of the air: **WIND**

Draco found himself later lying on the cough of the Head's Room, the fire burning lowly. The door slid open and Draco looked at the Headmaster. The old man hobbled over to Draco, eyebrows raised. "Where is Hermione?"

"She's not feeling well, sir. She decided to go to bed," Draco replied smoothly.

"Very well, then," Dumbledore nodded. "Then I assume you will pass this information to her when she awakes. I am getting really tired to repeating myself over and over and over again." He gave him a twinkling smile. "As I was saying, the trains shall leave tomorrow at noon. All those who are leaving tomorrow should be at the Hogsmeade train station by 11:30 or preferably before. Safety precautions have been made so that we will have people traveling to the train station in groups at designated times, which will be posted tomorrow at breakfast. If you are leaving tomorrow, Mr. Malfoy, I suggest that you pack early so that you won't have to go through the trouble tomorrow."

"No need, sir. I will be staying her for Christmas," Draco replied. Dumbledore nodded again. "Ah, both Heads staying for Christmas? Interesting. Well in that case, I came here to tell you that as Head Boy, it is your duty and Miss Granger's duty as Head Girl to see the students off and make sure that they reach the train station safely. Hopefully, Miss Granger will be well by then?"

Draco nodded.

"Very well then. Good night, and do give my regards to Miss Granger," Dumbledore called as he left the Head Room.

Draco waited till the door closed before he flung himself back on the couch. So Granger was staying for Christmas as well? Was it because of studies or was it because of whatever drove her to whirl around in the middle of the common room? Draco stayed up early into the morning, thinking of the girl who laid peacefully in her bed, his mind replying over and over again of Hermione hovering in the air and the marking on her back. It mystified him incredibly.

How did Hermione Granger become a Controller of the Wind Element?

* * *

**A/N:** Alrigh then. I actually got this beat approved so hopefully there aren't as many spelling erros or typos. Damn, I hate those... Again, I'm sorry for those who get really ticked at me for talking to freaken long to review. I really can't tell you how sorry I am, but hey, school work, and I don't want to be held back this year... That's the way the cookie crumble, I guess!

Now, if yall could be so sweet and beautiful, please just drop a short note (or long! Long is always good!), I'd be very pleased... you know what's really sad? I can't seem to use any big words because I don't know how to spell them correctly! Than again, my time, it's incredibly late...I feel like Ron in that first paragraph: _"Sleep…good…dark…good…sleep…"_

Peachs!


	7. Explanations

I'm going to do some more thanking, considering I didn't last time, and I believe all you awesome people need some thanking!

**Ptrst**: I'll thank you again, this time on the internet, that I'm so happy that your my beta. Ladies and Gentlemen! My wonderful beta, Ptrst!

**RebelSheepSayMoo**: May I first say that I really like your screen name? And I'm glad somebody likes the relationship between Draco and Pansy. Truth be told, I really actually do like writing Draco and Pansy together, well, in this type of scenario. I'm trying to not make Pansy be such a bimbo as every body else makes her out to be, because JKR really doesn't write much about her, and everybody just assumes she's a ditz. And I'm glad that you like my POVs. Sometimes I worry about having too many POVs, so I'm really pleased that you like them all. And please! Keep reviewing! I'd love to hear your comments! You have no idea how your review made me feel so warm and good inside. It's not everyday somebody writes you such a long review (not that I don't mind short ones, but I really do like it when people like you really express yourself and become philosophical in the review. It's interesting to see how other people's minds work). And I'm delighted that your impressed with Ron's character. If you don't mind me asking, what impresses you? I'm just thoroughly curious on what you think. Thanks for reading and reviewing!

**Catmar/Catsphoenix x**: Yeah, schoolwork always gets in the way, doesn't it? Thanks so much for reviewing and I'm glad that I achieved both a good plot and character substance to keep you interested! And yeah, I'm sorry for constantly leaving people at little cliff hangers. It's a horrible habit of mine, well, for the readers I suppose (mwuhahahaha), and I'll try to be better, although I don't think I ended this chapter with a good stop – another cliffie! But thank you so much for finding my story again! Thanks bunches for reviewing!

**Cedar1**: Well, I'm glad you reviewed this time to let me know that your still reading:blushes: I'm a good story teller? Thanks! And I'm really happy that you don't think I use too much detail. I seriously hope I never go incredibly overboard with details…

**Winnifred Dumbledore**: Yes, Dangerous and Dark Draco is now what I really enjoy to write. What can I say? I love characters that are like that, and they're really fascinating to write. Thanks for reviewing!

**LadySnake**: We'll see…:turns around throws hands in air and laughs like a maniac: Muwhahahaha!

**Babmidnight**: See? I didn't forget the B this time:chests puffs up in pride: Well! I'm glad I surprised someone in Hermione being a Controller! And I'm glad you like her element as Wind. I have to say, I was going to have her to be water…but we'll just have to wait and see where my fingers will type, won't we:large grin: And yes, Controllers can control more than one. I think I wrote in an earlier chapter (I simi-edited the previous chapters. Not much, just corrected typo's and added small details that aren't too important) but this other Wizard was able to control three elements…unfortunately, he ended up exploding himself because he let his Elements get out of hand…at least, I think I wrote that in a previous chapter…I've had so many other mini-chapters, I can't tell what I write and what I post any longer…sad, really. Thanks for reviewing and still reading!

Big thanks also to BreezenBy, Cheez Wizz, AnaisWolf, Kace08, multiple elements, foxeran, Bre, firefairy91, DracoDraconis, Ellie, and Anastasia Ju-Bok.

* * *

**Cry Me Tears of Fire**

_By Pensive Puddles

* * *

_

"I'll miss you, Draco," Pansy whispered in his ear, slowly wrapping her arms around him in a good-bye hug. Draco knew she wanted more. She always did. All girls did. It annoyed him.

The morning sun covered the train platform of Hogsmeade in a warm, bright blanket, quite un-winter like. The sky was clear, showing no evidence of falling snow, which disappointed many of the students; they were all wishing for a white Christmas. Draco looked over Pansy's shoulder, watching students bid farewell to their close friends, promising to see each other over the break, and wishing each other a merry Christmas and a happy New Year. Draco wished that they would all just get on the train and leave, and – hopefully never come back.

"I gave your Christmas present to the house elves. They'll give it to you on Christmas morning," Pansy said, pulling Draco out of his observations. He leaned away to look at her, taking in her choppy blond hair and large blue eyes. He inwardly sighed and leaned down to give her a kiss. It was pitiful how desperate she was for his touch. She wrapped her arms around his neck, holding him tightly to her. She tried to get some reaction out of him, unleash the passion she so desperately wanted him to give to her. She forgot that she meant little to Draco.

Eventually, she pulled away from him and gave him a soft smile, pleased with what little effort he put into their kiss. At least it wasn't that dull; he had added his tongue and nipped her lip. She gave him one lest peck on the mouth, squeezed his hand and then boarded the train. "I'll save a spot on the train for you, Blaise," she called over her shoulder before losing herself in the mass of students who climbed onto the train home.

Blaise stepped next to Draco, having given the unofficial couple a couple of moments to themselves. He sighed, watching their female friend struggle to find an empty compartment. "It's rather pitiful. I wish she'd get a steady boyfriend," Draco remarked, sighing and looking at the cloudless sky.

"You know she always wants you in the end," Blaise replied, turning to his friend. The two boys stared at each other in an awkward silence. Neither of them had ever been good with good-byes.

"Take care of yourself, Draco," Blaise said, not bothering to extend a hand for a handshake or give him a manly hug. That wasn't the way Slytherins bid each other farewell. The Slytherin way was a curt nod, which Draco returned.

"I'm stronger now, Blaise. I told you," Draco said, pretending that a pair of arguing second years had drawn his attention. He could feel Blaise's warning gaze. Blaise had been there when Draco had fallen ill to his own powers. He couldn't recall the amount of times Blaise had been at his side, helping him up during his moments of complete weakness, never ridiculing him or alerting the others of his Achilles' heel. After all, Slytherins were cannibals in the end anyway. They preferred the blood of their own kind over anybody else's.

"Merry Christmas, Draco. You're welcome over at my house if you ever get sick of staying here at Hogwarts by yourself," Blaise offered after a pregnant moment. Draco nodded and watched his friend board the train. He turned and left his two comrades, never once looking back.

:-:-:-:-:-:

"Get on the train. Now," Draco ordered curtly, giving the 1st year Hufflepuffs a threatening glare. Trembling, the children flew up the stairs in a frenzy, knocking others aside in their haste. Draco chuckled, listening to the shouts of outrage at the scramble. He loved causing hell. Usually he didn't even have to say anything. One glance towards the door of the train was enough to send the younger years hurrying inside.

_When will you people leave?_ he demanded silently. He was getting annoyed with the loud commotion of the train sputtering steam, luggage banging against everything, and students yelling. "Come on, get on the train. It's about to leave. Yes, merry Christmas to you too," wished a familiar voice. Draco turned towards it, and watched as Hermione helped a little girl with her large suitcase onto the train. How could she smile like that? Didn't her face hurt? Draco knew his would have.

His face twisted into a creepy grin, scaring even a few of his fellow seventh year Slytherins, who quickly avoided him. _Time for some fun,_ Draco thought.

_"I'm not the only one with a…**dark** secret, am I?"_ Draco remarked to her telepathically. His head buzzed slightly. It had been awhile since he had talked to anyone through his mind. After all, not many people were able to respond, so it was more of a one-sided conversation. Although it was quite easy to send people messages telepathically, it tended to freak them out whenever they suddenly heard Draco's voice in their head while they were listening to a Professor talk or while writing a complicated essay.

Draco watched as Hermione froze, looking wildly around her, trying to find where the voice was coming from.

_"Don't bother looking, darling. You don't know where to look,"_ Draco replied, hiding amongst the crowd, enjoying messing with her mind. He never took his pale eyes off her. He savored the petrified look in her eyes, although she tried to keep her body from trembling.

_"I'm watching you…at this very moment. Always watching. **Always**…"_ he whispered, and he could see her visibly trembling from where he stood. Someone grabbed onto her sleeve, asking for help; he didn't know where he was. Hermione shook her head, put on a fake smile and helped the child onto the train. She then walked in the opposite direction of Draco. He smirked. He could smell her fear, even from where he stood. Her fear was definitely the most delicious thing he had ever tasted.

"Where's Hermione? I want to say goodbye," Draco heard an annoying voice say. Oh, his day _definitely_ got better.

Walking over to the pathetic red-head, along with his younger sibling, and of course, the obnoxious, pompous Potter, Draco held his head in an aristocratic manner, looking at them with an arrogant and bored expression, as if conveying that they were a waste of his time. All three scowled at him.

"Weasley, I'd advise you to get on the train. It's about to leave. And I, for one, don't want to be stuck with you for the winter holidays," Draco remarked.

"Not until I say good-bye to Hermione," Ron declared, shoving his way past Draco and bumping shoulders hard against him.

"She's busy helping others get on the train, doing what Head's do. Get on the train," Draco ordered, resisting the urge to shove the two boys onto the train. He was looking forward to two weeks Weasley-and-Potter free.

"Not until we see Hermione," Harry said in a low growl.

"Send her a card," Draco said, narrowing his eyes as Ron held back Harry, whose green eyes were wild with anger. Draco wondered what Harry would look like with his hair on fire. Fortunately, someone stopped him before he could make his dream a reality.

"I'm afraid I have to agree with Mr. Malfoy with this one, Mr. Potter. He's doing what he was told to do, and that was to get all the students onto the train. Please, now, get on the train. It'll be leaving very shortly. I must insist," Professor McGonagall pressed, lightly pushing the trio onto the train. They looked over their shoulders, desperately scanning the crowd for Hermione to yell a good-bye.

Draco gave Potter his trademark smirk, as he was shoved into the train, and he nearly wanted to unleash a yell of excitement. No more Potter! However, his dignity kept him from expressing the joy bubbling inside of him.

He turned around, the large smirk still on his face that quickly faded as he saw Hermione standing near by. "Thank you," she mouthed, and then turned and walked away. Draco stared after her, deeply confused and frustrated. He wanted to piss her off, torment her that her friends never even said goodbye to her. But she seemed…_pleased_ that she didn't talk to them. Upset that his plan backfired, Draco took his frustration out on the stragglers on the platform, actually using physically force to get them onto the train. _What part of 'Get on the bloody train' **don't** you understand! _

:-:-:-:-:-:-:

Draco watched as she played with her food at the dinner table later that night. It was a simple meal and there were so few people that had stayed for the holidays that everyone sat at one table in the Great Hall. Draco merely watched Hermione, tormenting her; it was better than the food before him. She would glance up every so often, wondering if he had looked elsewhere. But every time her eyes met his, and she looked away immediately.

_"Did you **really** think you could hide that big of a secret?"_ he asked, watching her movements. He could see the urge tempting her to look up at him. And he silently wished she were telepathic as well. It would be interesting to carry a conversation in the middle of the Great Hall amongst the oblivious students and professors. Snape never really engaged into conversation; he was a very quiet man.

She took another bite of her pasta, and Draco watched as she slurped up an extra long noodle. She raised her napkin to her mouth and wiped away the sauce that had ended up splattering along her lips. It was kind of cute.

_"You must have known someone was going to discover your attraction to the Dark Arts. Who would have ever suspected innocent little Granger walking down the path of Darkness? What your friends would think! What next, will you be joining the Dark Lord's servants?"_ Draco taunted. Her shoulders stiffened.

_"I'm just curious, Granger. Are you going to pursue it? I know that the Dark Arts are awfully tempting. How far will you go for it? Will you betray your friends? Would you **kill** them if it gave you more power? I can see your true desires. I know you want it. You **need** it."_

Hermione stood to her feet, excused herself from the table and left the Great Hall. Draco merely watched her retreat before returning to his pasta, taking another large mouthful. Yes, vacation wasn't going to be as boring as he thought it would be.

:-:-:-:-:-:-:

Hermione exited her room, and instantly wished she hadn't. Draco was lying on the couch in the middle of their Common Room, reading a book. She knew he had detected her presence. It would show weakness and fear if she turned around and cowered in her room. So instead, she marched to a chair nearby and sat down, picking up the book she was reading earlier and joining him.

Despite the turning of pages and the crackle of the fireplace, the room was silent and Hermione realized she actually liked the atmosphere created until

"How long have you been a controller?" Draco asked, not once taking his eyes off the paragraph he was reading. She again wished she had stayed in her room.

"How long have you?" she replied, resting her book in her lap.

"I asked you first." He never turned away from his novel. Hermione watched him, observing how the shadows played across his face from the fire. His fair hair was ruffled from lying on one of the pillows, and his pale eyes never looked more sharp and intelligent as they scanned the complex book in his hands. Hermione would know; she had read that book last week. She voiced her thoughts, asking him what he thought of it so far.

"You're avoiding the question," Draco said, setting down his book and turning to look her in the eyes. She wished he had kept reading. Never had she felt more exposed in her whole life. She always felt naked in front of him when he looked hard at her with his eerie, yet somehow beautiful pale eyes.

Should she tell him? She hadn't told anyone. Not Harry, not Ron, not her parents, not even Dumbledore. And she was going to just bare her soul to her enemy? In a sense, Draco would probably be more understanding than any of her other friends or mentors. After all, he possessed the same ability. She took a deep breath and finally decided to tell him the truth. It had never felt so odd.

"Since September, maybe. I'm not sure. I haven't really used it, really. I mean, I thought something was odd because it became windier whenever I was upset or whenever my emotions were really high. But I just thought it was one of those things when your magic gets carried away when you lose control of your emotions," Hermione confessed.

"How'd you become a Controller?"

"I don't now."

"No one just wakes up one morning and finds themselves able to control one of the elements. Therefore, you _must_ know," Draco accused, his voice evidently full of suppressed anger.

"I don't know," she repeated, her voice firmer, and her eyes dancing with anger at being accused.

"Don't lie to me!" Draco yelled, standing to his feet and throwing his book aside. His eyes were livid, and the shadows cast by the fire contorted his face ferociously. She stared down at the carpet, her arms wrapped around herself, shaking fiercely. Draco grabbed her head and forced her to look up at him, showing him the fear that swirled in her amber orbs. And something else… She knew how she became a controller. She just wasn't going to tell him.

Angry, he sat back down on the couch and stared at the ceiling. Her question was quiet compared to the roar that had previously disturbed the room, "How'd you become a Controller?"

Chants…possession of dark spirits…and his father watched it all from the side lines… 

"I don't have to tell you anything, Mudblood," Draco replied coldly and lowly.

She narrowed her eyes and spat, "You're such a git!"

"Control yourself before you cause another tornado in the Common Room," Draco advised, obviously pleased he had incensed her to equal his own anger.

"Control _myself_? Oh, so I assume you had control over yourself at the breakfast table the other day? Or you had control over yourself when you punched Ron and lit his face on fire? Good control there, Malfoy," she snapped sarcastically.

"The Weasel deserved it," he muttered.

Silence.

Draco turned to look at her. "What? You're not going to defend him?"

More silence.

"Leave me alone. I don't want to fight," she finally sighed, staring intensely into the dancing flames.

"You started it," he accused.

"How so?" she demanded.

"By reading Dark Magic." Draco glared at her, and she narrowed her eyes. Suddenly, a spark of realization gleamed in her brown eyes, aggravating Draco.

"You're upset that I'm able to control an Element as well, that a _mudblood_ like me could be powerful enough to possess an element. Admit it, Malfoy. That's why you're so pissed off," Hermione smirked triumphantly.

"Yes, Granger, I am pissed and I have every right to be! It's bad enough that we have mixes like _you_ in the world. Dark Magic wasn't meant to be wielded by mudbloods. Your kind are incapable of so much power," he retorted.

"You're unbelievable!" she exclaimed. "You still can't accept that fact that I'm just as good as you, if not better!"

"Wrong. I will _always_ be better than you. I will _always_ be superior to you. Why? Because I've got the better, _purer_ blood. And that makes all the difference," Draco stated, staring down at her.

It upset her to no end. She had wanted so desperately to show people like him that she was capable of conducting magic just as well as any pureblood, if not better. But no matter what she did, no matter how excellent and more skillful she showed herself to be, they wouldn't care because that one flaw in her would always count greatly against her: her mixed blood. She could feel the heat of the fire grow, and she knew he was growing angry. She could hear the pages of an open book flutter, and she knew that her wind element was kicking in.

"You're such a pompous ass," she snarled and pushed her way past him. Draco watched as she stormed to her room and slammed the door louder than necessary.

Still breathing deeply, he calmed himself. And then he smirked. He loved getting under her skin. As he lied down on the couch, Draco continued to ponder how Hermione became a controller.

:-:-:-:-:-:

_The chugging of the train is steady, so unlike her life. The girl wipes tears away from her face and returns to her book. She wasn't going to go home for the rest of the summer. She didn't want to have to choose between her parents. How could people be so heartless, forcing a child to chose between them? How could parents be so cruel, to force their child to make such a life-altering decision? _

_Men in expensive suits, carrying leather brief cases. "It's a simple question. Do you want to live with your mother, or with your father?"_

_Simple question? How would they know? It wasn't going to change **their** lives. _

_Run away. Now that was simple._

_"Hey, is this seat taken?" a friendly voice asks. She looks up at the smiling face of a boy about her age with dark, short hair and warm brown eyes. She nods and he smiles, immediately sitting down. He looks over at her. "What are you reading?"_

_She glances down at the book in her hands, the cover old and batter and the title illegible. She could never explain it to a commoner. It was too much for their mind to grasp. "I'm studying Latin," was all that she said. _

_The boy raises his eyebrows in surprise. "Wow. That's really cool. I never met a person like you," he smiles, meaning it as a compliment. She returns it, pleased. They talk of little things, things that mean nothing to anyone else. In fact, they're inaudible. _

_The boy goes back to his CD player and she returns to her book, absorbed in the Latin words and symbols scrawled all over the pages. Only, it's not Latin that she's reading. It's Dark Magic. His music is loud so he can't hear her. She takes the risky chance of practicing one of the incantations. Nothing happens. She repeats it again, this time louder. Nothing. She sighs. She wasn't strong enough, it seems._

_The train wobbles and she looks alarmed. The boy takes off his headphones and stands up, looking out the door curiously. "That's strange. I'm sure everything will be all right," he says comfortingly. She only nods and looks outside. The train is passing over a large lake far below them. She sees the train tilt again and no moment in her life had ever been more painfully breathtakingly silent than that dreadful, short moment. _

_Suddenly she's screaming and the train is falling down into the lake. She cries the first thing she can think of, and it's the spell she was reciting earlier. Invisible arms pull her through the glass and she watches as the boy pounds his fists against the window, crying out for her to help him, to save him. She lands in the water, and she watches as the train sinks deeper and deeper into the dark, bottomless pit of the lake. All the while, she stares at the boy, dead from being smashed against the wall at the impact. The window's shattered and his body floats out. His eyes, wide in fear, look at her and the swirling water moves his limp body and sucks him under. _

_She screams, the water filling her mouth. She coughs vainly as more water chokes her and fills her lungs. She feels her body sinking. She's going to join the other dead. She doesn't want to die. "Help…" she cries out weakly. She feels the same invisible hands under her arms, but she doesn't know what they're going to do because the water turns a dark black and swirls around her, blinding her._

Draco sat up in his bed, his breath slightly irregular. He blinked a couple times, wondering where he was. He sighed and closed his eyes. A pale skinned, dead figure seemed to float in front of him, its eyes unseeing and jaw opened.

"Holy shit!" he cried, jerking himself awake again. He pounded his fist against his head. "Get out! Get out! Get out!" he chanted, wanting to go back to sleep.

With blurry eyes, he searched the room for his clock, and saw it glowing four in the morning. He frowned. There was no point in going to sleep, not that he could. He had a feeling that that dead body was going to disturbed him for the rest of the day. A sniffling noise tickled his ears. Curious, he got out of his bed and quietly went towards the sound.

He opened the door to the bathroom that was connected to his room and hers. The door pulled away from his limp fingers, revealing a girl hunched on the floor, head resting against the cupboard under the sink. Even now, she still trembled and she held herself with her skinny arms. Her brown curls were damp with perspiration, and Draco could see sweat marks darkening her clothes. She looked up at him, and he watched as a series of tears fall from her watery eyes. She sniffled, not bothering to wipe her face. After all, what good would come from it? She was going to continue to cry anyway.

Her tears were somehow sadly beautiful. He watched, mesmerized, as one slid down her pale cheek and onto her arm. She brushed the hair away from her face, tucking it behind her ear. She lifted her head slowly and stared straight into his gray eyes. Three simply words was all that she whispered, yet it chilled his heart terribly and stopped his breathing, but connected the missing pieces of his puzzle and displaying it in a whole new light.

"Now you know."

:-:-:-:-:-:

**A/N:** I actually had this finished like last week. I was just getting it beta-approved so I didn't make you cry in humiliation when he read all my typos of every sort. So there you go! I hope you guys all go that! And yes, I let you with another little cliffy. I am working on the eighth chapter as you read this so it should be up by next week…hopefully. Just pray that my schedule doesn't become crammed with homework suddenly!

But to tide yall over till then, check out my **NEWEST**, **DARKEST**, **EVILEST**, and **INSANELY GOOD** (well, I think, because I've never been more pleased about anything I've written until this thing) new one-shot (sorry, another one-shot, but it's long! Please read it anyway!) It's called _Guilty by Insanity_. I know… the title sounds a little corny, sorry. I always was bad in coming up with titles. I can write the story; I'm incapable of writing the title. Anyway, if you guys could just be so freaken awesome and wonderful and take a little look-see at it, I'd be most obliged!

A quick summary though: George confronts Fred about Hermione's murder. He'll forever wish that he hadn't. Sometimes answers cost a wealthy price; Fred's answer cost George his sanity.

Doesn't sound good? Believe me, it is. Well, I really think so. And for those who have read it and reviewed, thank you oogles, and to those who have read it, but haven't reviewed…um, could you just drop a little note? Please?

Peaches to everybody – well, actually, since I lack peaches, I can give you chocolate bunnies:throws chocolate out into crowd, who grabs bunnies and runs away, leaving an empty handed Pensive Puddles: Drat…


	8. Can we Pretend?

**CELEBRATION!** Thank you **ALL** so much for reviewing for this story! I'm proud to say, that you guys have taken me to the 100-review mark. This is the first time this has ever happened to me! Thank you so much! Now, crank up the music, spike the punch, and get the party started! Woot-woot!

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**Cry Me Tears of Fire**

_By Pensive Puddles_

Draco sat down at the table, his hands holding two mugs filled with steaming hot chocolate that a house elf had previously brought it up. Sitting down across from the trembling girl, he pushed a mug in her direction and watched as she held it in her still-shaking fingers. He slowly lifted the mug to his lips and took a small sip; a part of him still loved the taste and texture of hot chocolate. When he was just a little boy back at the manor, the house elves always gave him hot chocolate when he had bad nightmares; the sweetness soothed his fears and calmed him. Despite being odd-looking and smelly creatures, house elves were quite nice, although Draco would never admit that out loud to anyone.

"Thank you," she said quietly, finally bringing the black mug to her lips and taking a sip. She said nothing more. Draco waved his hand in the direction of the hearth and a large, bright fire engulfed the previous dark fireplace. She sighed as heat filtered through the room, but no other sound was made.

Draco looked around the room, staring out the window opposite of them. It was pitch black outside, and the sun wasn't going to rise for another several hours. Draco liked the darkness; there was just something about it that connected with him. Everything seemed so much more…beautiful in the dark, mysterious. It resembled his thoughts and life, he supposed: undistinguishable, dark, and quiet.

"What are you thinking of?" her small voice asked. His pale gray eyes slid over to her and she stared at him in innocent curiosity. He took another sip from his drink to delay his response, while he inwardly debated in answering her. But her pathetic innocence seemed to shatter whatever nasty thoughts he usually would have automatically said, and so instead he replied gently, "How long the nights are in the winter."

"I like the night," she said quietly, thinking to herself. Draco watched her stare out the window, fondly looking at something he could not see. Maybe it was the darkness itself. "You can always trust it to be dark. It's one thing that will never change."

The common room was silent afterwards for a few long, rather enjoyable minuets. Finally, when he grew weary of the silence, he asked, "Who was he?"

She stiffened and tried to forget the memories by taking a large gulp of her drink, burning her tongue. But she didn't care, not one bit; it rivaled the pain that swarmed her whenever she thought back to that fateful day.

"He's name was Todd. He was going to go visit his grandmother in the country," she said, her eyes downcast. He didn't know what to say. He could already guess what had happened, and he really wasn't ready to see Granger break down in front of him. He couldn't stand to see girls cry, enemy or not. It was the Achilles' Ankle in the Malfoy line. Yes, even Lucius himself has to turn away from a crying woman, be her Muggle or not – of course he always pretends to be a true sadistic, he could only truly torture men. A Malfoy's softness towards tears lasts only a short time; nevertheless, those few moments are crucial to their reputation.

"It's all my fault!" she wailed, slamming her cup down against the desk, and making the brown beverage slosh over the sides and stain the table. She covered her face with her hands, pressing her palms hard against her closed eyes, as if trying to squeeze the images of the dying boy out of her mind. "It's all my fault!"

Draco didn't say anything; he didn't know what _to_ say.

"He was just going to visit his grandmother's! Just for the weekend! And I killed him! I killed them all!" she sobbed, visible tears sliding out from beneath her hands and Draco turned away. Damn his weakness to women's tears.

"I didn't mean to do it. I honestly didn't think I was strong enough – I mean, I _hoped_ I had been strong enough but not _that_ strong," she mumbled to herself, seeming to forget Draco's presence, so wrapped in the past she was. "It's my fault why the train fell off the tracks. I made it happen. I made the wind do it. Didn't you see that in the dream?"

Draco didn't answer because she wasn't truly asking for his opinion. He merely watched her shoulders shake violently as she sobbed; terribly horrified, she made no sound. Her hands rested limply on the desk, and it seemed that she was so bombarded with guilt and memories that it left her paralyzed.

He didn't know what he was doing until it was too late, but he suddenly found her looking at him with watery eyes, a small curtain of relief hanging in them as he held her small hand. She gave him a tiny grin of gratitude and squeezed his hand hard, afraid of letting go in case all comfort would disappear forever, and she would be lost to her nightmare memories. Draco didn't pull back; he couldn't. Dangerously transfixed by her pitiful state, he merely let her clutch his pale hand.

It wasn't love; it wasn't anything that would spark any sort of infatuation. Draco Malfoy simply pitied her, and she welcomed his pity because no one else was willing to receive it. No one would have understood, and strangely, her worst enemy – or so she believed – was the only one on the whole grounds of Hogwarts that identified with her.

:-:-:-:-:-:-:

Draco cocked his head to the side while he leaned against a tree. He had been standing outside for only a few minuets. Lunch had been practically meaningless; he had lost his appetite as of late. It was relaxing staying at the castle during the break. There were no noisy, obnoxious students to discipline, no homework to stress over, no friends to pester him about any minuscule detail. It was just peaceful, and he could do anything he wanted.

Except, he didn't know _what_ he wanted to do.

His homework wasn't important to him at the moment. He liked to put things off to the last minuet, well, when it came to Hogwarts homework anyway; he worked better that way. There were no other Slytherins of great interest that could possibly entertain him. He supposed that he'd find himself most on the Quidditch field, practicing – maybe he could actually beat that aggravating Potter. How glorious it would be to finally beat him! Especially if it was the last game of the season! No one would care about his previous losses, they would all remember him defeating the great Harry Potter in the final game.

It upset him greatly that people practically worshiped Potter. After all, the Gryffindor had lost a game more than once in the past. But no one really reminded him of that, unlike himself where his loss would always be alluded too. In a way, it motivated Draco more to become better in order to beat Potter. He just wished that people would acknowledge the fact that in the last two years, his only defeats had been against Potter. But they wouldn't acknowledge it because it didn't matter to them; if he couldn't beat Potter, then he wasn't anything spectacular.

But he wasn't on the field and his broom was locked up in his room. Right now, he was just watching his roommate feed what looked like to be bread to the squid. Curious, and not really having anything else to do, he walked over to her.

A bridge had been built over the lake the year before. Younger students loved to lean over the rail and feed the squid during sunny days. He walked up the bridge, his feet tapping hollowly against the wood. He paused near her, leaning against the rail and watching her chuck another piece of ripped bread down into the mass of tentacles that reached up and sucked it into the dark water.

"We used to feed the ducklings down at the pond when I was little. When mum and dad were still together, I mean. When everything was still normal," she said quietly. She smiled fondly as a wet rubbery tentacle reached out of the water and grabbed the bread she held out with her hand. "It was a nice pond. I used to think it was enormous and that it would take forever to row across it. I went back to it once and it wasn't that big anymore. It wasn't as blue either. And the ducklings were all grown up."

"It happens," Draco said. He found it peculiar that she was sharing some of her personal memories with him. And strangely, Draco had this odd desire to share some fond memory of his own. The thing that stopped him was that he couldn't think of any that stood out. It troubled him deeply.

"It's strange how things are so huge when you're little, how every thing's so glorious and magical when you're young. Like when I would swing on the swing set down at the park, I used to think that if I got high enough, I'd be so high that I would just simply fly out of the swing and never come back down, and I'd just fly and fly wherever I wanted to go. That swing set doesn't go that high anymore," she said disappointedly. Draco watched as her eyes glowed at remembering the sensation of feeling the urge to fly, and he watched that brightness die as reality took control again.

She held out the bread to him, offering it to him and he stared at it. She didn't lower it; she understood that it took him awhile to make decisions when it involved her in any way. Finally, he reached out tentatively and took the bread, ripping off a chunk and throwing it into the water. It splashed and bobbled on the surface of the lake before being sucked under by a tentacle.

It was peaceful, he had to admit, standing out on the bridge with Granger and feeding the giant squid. The wind blew coldly against their skin and pulled at their scarves. No birds sang. Only the chilly breeze and the splashing the tentacles made when they grabbed at the slabs of bread that floated in the water disturbed the silence.

"Do you think it'll snow soon?" she asked thoughtfully and hopefully, glancing up at the empty gray sky.

"I don't know. It's defiantly peculiar that it hasn't snowed yet," Draco replied.

"I like the snow, especially the large snowflakes. They make good packing snow," she said. She opened her mouth to reminisce a time of her past, but something stopped her. Draco looked at her and that happy expression on her face was replaced with plain coolness.

"What were you going to say?" he asked without thinking, and was surprised to realize he actually _wanted_ to know.

She shook her head stubbornly. "It's not important."

Draco didn't pursue it. The bread was nearly finished when the next person spoke.

"Why must we fight so much?" she asked.

"We're not fighting now," he remarked and she gave a wry grin that disappeared as she said clearly, "Not now, yes, but other times. We've been bickering and taunting each other since we were both eleven and it's only grown worse as we've gotten older. You'd think that we'd grow out of it."

"Why must we fight so much?" she repeated when he didn't reply to her earlier.

It wasn't like he was ignoring her question intentionally. He was actually pondering the question, and in all honesty, he had forgotten himself what the true reason was. He didn't understand both what the reason was and why he had forgotten. His mind quickly searched for an answer, for some justification. He could feel her eyes on him, waiting for an answer, and some hope that maybe they could become friends. And that was yet another step out of his comfort-zone that he was unwilling to take. "It's because of our blood," he blurted out when she opened her mouth to comment on something.

He fixed his eyes on the still water, avoiding her disappointed look as she asked quietly, "Is it?"

"Yes," he lied, so quickly that he didn't realize he had said it until he heard her breathe a deep sigh.

"If I was Pureblood, would our relationship be any different?"

"Maybe."

"Would we be friends?"

"Possibly."

"Can we start over, then?"

"What?" he stated, rather than asked.

"Can we just…start over? Can we forget about everything in the past?"

"No," he said, watching her wishful eyes dim. "You can't just forget seven years of hatred in a second. It's unrealistic. And in the end, we'll just end up where we are today: bitter enemies."

"Are we?" she asked, curious, wondering how bitter enemies could have a civil conversation.

"Yes," he said, smirking, and she wished he had been joking, that the smirk took all sting out of his statement.

But it didn't. He just leaned against the rail and looked at the squid. She watched him, admiring his pale complexion, the only fair thing that reminded her that winter was upon them, after all, his pale hair and complexion resembled that of a heavenly creature – except it was all a disguise. Underneath, he really was just as evil as the devil.

She scolded herself for being so hostile. She didn't really know who he was exactly. She didn't think he knew who he was either. And the chance to discover it together, him and her, was exhilarating to think about.

"Can we pretend, then?" she asked.

"What? Pretend?" he asked puzzled. He was so lost in his other thoughts that he was clueless about what she was talking about.

"Can we pretend that we're friends? Just for this break. Just in our Common Room. Can we just pretend?" she asked, nearly begging.

Never had he heard something so preposterous in all his years – which was saying something, considering he was friends with Blaise, and Blaise could say some pretty preposterous things. He looked at her oddly, and he saw her face flush in embarrassment. She didn't say anything else. His eyes were so foreboding that she threw the rest of her bread into the lake, not caring where it landed, and walked away.

She nearly wanted to throw herself in the lake and freeze to death than to ever face him again. How could she have been so stupid? She was quixotic to believe that their hostile relationship could change in just a split second, that they – _he_ was capable of throwing seven years of childish hatred away so easily. She had just hoped that he would have…but maybe it was because she felt as if she had no other friend in Hogwarts, and that she and he shared the same magical ability, she had impractically thought that that Dark bond could have let them throw away such stupidity and come to agreeable terms. She could tell he was growing in his Dark Magic, and now that she knew for sure that she possessed Dark Magic inside of her as well, she wanted him to help her expand it, let her become his apprentice in other words. And she needed to be his friend in order for that to happen.

Now, Hermione Granger has always been a kind-hearted girl. She thinks first of the well being of her friends and others before herself. But when it was something so big and alluring as Dark Magic, and her friends seeming to have left her bleeding and bruised in the dirt, she tended to become a little selfish…well, _very_ selfish. And when her selfish ways want something, her determination exceeds the normal definition of determination. And a very selfish and determined Hermione Granger is a very scary person indeed.

Although she had to admit, the good part amongst the nasty, selfish part of herself had to admit that she always wondered what being friends with a Malfoy would be like. How different it must be from her friendship with her other friends! She had never met a person as extraordinary as Draco, let alone befriend them.

"Granger!" a voice cut through her thoughts. Her breath caught in her chest and she slowly turned around, afraid and excited to see what she might find. Draco was walking towards her and he stopped before her. He looked down at her and said quietly, "What do you want to do today…friend?"

She smiled a large smile and Draco felt a strange warmth fill his stomach, as she walked to the castle, beckoning him to follow her.

:-:-:-:-:-:-:

It was odd for them to pretend to be friends. It wasn't as easy as she had said it would be, or how she had made it sound to be. Whenever Hermione wanted to say or do something, she always debated inwardly first before actually saying or doing it or not. Being Draco's friend was nothing like being friends with Harry and Ron—

_Ron…_she growled at the name. _Back stabbing jerk! I gave him my love, I let him cheat off my homework, and he **cheats** on **me** with **Lavender** of all people!_

She brooded so darkly that Draco noticed her cross expression, but he ignored it. It was her idea in the first place that they pretend to be friends. Although, he wondered why he had said anything at all. He hadn't even realized what he was saying until he was half way through, and being his proud self, he wasn't going to be a coward and stop… although he wished now that he had.

Meanwhile, Hermione wondered how she could twist the knife out of her own back and slam it into Ron's. Being that intelligent girl that she was, she knew she should have given him the benefit of a doubt, but her shattered, betrayed heart refused to relent and forgive him. Maybe that was why she wanted to become friends with Draco. Maybe because she wanted the sweet satisfaction of seeing Ron's face when he heard of her with his school enemy. Of course, Ron probably still thought she was oblivious to his affair and he probably was going to dump her when he came back from break. Anger ate at her stomach until her treacherous mind proposed the idea of dumping him first. And maybe even for Draco! Oh! _imagine_ Ron's face _then_! Well, she wouldn't get with him per say; she'd only pretend as long as Draco was game.

The idea seemed so far-fetched and jealous that Hermione pushed the thought aside. Too many girls had already tried to get back at their exs by dating their enemies, and she wasn't going to stoop to their level; she was too smart and too proud for that. She glanced over at Draco who walked next to her. He strode with sureness in his stride, something that she had never seen a boy do. And she wondered what haunted him at night. Surely something bothered him, something plagued his thoughts. He never did tell her how he became a Controller. There was this haunted look in his eyes, cowering in the darker shades of gray, some sort of fear that he tried to hide from prying eyes. And she admired how he could act the same even though something obviously troubled him.

Draco saw her brown eyes flicker over to his and he automatically looked over and locked eyes with her for a split second before she quickly looked forward again. He inwardly smirked as her cheeks flushed a rosy pink. She flushed a lot lately; did he unnerve her? He hoped so. He liked unnerving people.

He wondered what it would be like to be friends with Granger. He didn't really have friends. Comrades, peers, and servants: yes. But friends? Besides Blaise and Pansy: no. And he usually let Blaise and Pansy decide what to do. He hated feeling uncomfortable and nervous; it was something he rarely experienced.

"Just treat me how you'd treat Potter and Weasley," Draco said after he noticed her open her mouth to say something but stopped and closed her mouth shortly after.

"I usually just do what they want me to do," Hermione admitted quietly.

Draco smirked and chuckled. She liked how he chuckled. It seemed to be trapped in his chest, and rumble there. "Well, we're in an odd predicament, aren't we?"

"Do you mean to tell me that you don't lead your friends?" Hermione asked amused. "You do know that people have labeled you – Blaise, Pansy and you – as the Slytherin Trio to rival the Gryffindor one, don't you? In a way, I always consider you Harry, Blaise Ron, and Pansy me – more because of the fact that she's a girl."

Draco didn't know whether to be offended or not. After all, Draco hated being compared to Potter. "Great," he remarked coldly, his eyes frosting in icy anger and injured dignity, " I'm being compared to Perfect Potter now, am I?"

Hermione stared at him, bemused at his sudden change of attitude. It seemed unreal that he was only laughing seconds before. "Yes," she said firmly. "From everyone else's point of view, both of you are leaders, both of you are determined and respected, both of you have strong personality, both of you are strongest in magic in your house – "

"I think you'd be, since you are Head Girl."

"Yes, but that's when it comes to assignments and studying. Harry's always been strong at conducting magic. I could never be as good as him."

"Need I remind you that you are the one with the ability to process Dark Magic? You need to be strong for that. And you're just an ordinary Mudblood; you weren't helped along by You-Know-Who."

Hermione face glowed in pleasure when he finished. Although he had called her a Mudblood, he had meant it in a good way, and not the degrading way he usually said it in. "Mentally--," she began to object.

"And magically," Draco interrupted. "Really, Granger, you don't give yourself enough credit."

She blushed, as he chuckled. "Hermione," she said, and Draco looked at her. She gazed at him with shy eyes. "Call me Hermione."

His pace never changed as they continued to walk to where she was leading them. Hermione felt humiliation crush her chest. Idiot! She was too bold! She shouldn't have said anything. She shouldn't –

"Draco," he said quietly, so low she almost didn't hear him. "Call me Draco."

:-:-:-:-:-:-:

**A/N:** So…there you go. Chapter eight. Sorry this one seemed to take me decades and decades to write. Actually, I've had it done for weeks, but I was just trying to get it beta-approved, but no matter how many times I sent it to her, she just wasn't getting it. So, I was tired of waiting, and I felt bad for you guys having to wait (cause I know what it's like to have to wait for a story…drives me bonkers…) so I'm updating, and hopefully there aren't that many typo's and spelling mistakes. If so, feel free to point them out. I know this is going slow, but I'm just trying to get all the foundation laid down.

In other news…for those who are "reading" The Dragonstar Quest, bad news: I **deleted** it off fanfiction(dot)net. Sorry! I really really am! But it's such a relief to get it off my chest, and I was loosing heart in writing it. And because all these little problems kept cropping up with the storyline I had planned. Who knows, maybe in the future when I really get everything planned out better, I'll rewrite it, and not with such doozy chapters…way to freaken long in my opinion.

Well, Pensive Puddles signing off, but not before saying "Be kind and review! You all did such a spiffiola job last time!"


	9. Trying to Understand the Female Mind

**Author's Note**: Listen, I am so sorry that this has taken me so long to write. I know that first line is practically on every single one of my chapters except chapter one, but this one is really really true! I'll admit, I could have found time during the school year to write. But I can honestly say that I couldn't humanly find time for chapter nine. Why? Because for the past month I've been on the road, driving cross country, with not even enough time to check email let alone write! And sadly, I lack a labtop…:sigh: maybe when I go into college I'll get one, but that's way into the future. Meanwhile, please accept my humblest apologies, and let me gravel at your feet, not only for waiting for me to update, but also for even reading my story in the first place. Without you guys, I would have never made it this far.

**Shout outs to:** dantesquide, xXwitchXx, withyinuyashagurl, thingsmakemehappy (hope you're still sane!), mysticalpurple, dracosbabigirl, firefairy91, Monday Mornings, fluffy buff, Dmwme09, GuardGirl07, Kace08, Angelic Dragon, FireGuardian, Luvyferina, babmidnight, LadySnake, Sk8eRgIrL1990, LivingImpared, penate, dotty, hotennispro88, RebelSheepSayMoo(Thank you SO much for you really long review! I love getting ones like yours!), Ellie, Pidwideon188, Kate-Raspberry, lady-sanctuary, carly…ok, if I miss anybody, I'm truly sorry. But as for now, kick back, relax and enjoy!

**Cry Me Tears of Fire**

_Pensive Puddles_

:-:-:-:-:-:

Draco had a hard time sleeping that night; in fact, he had just played with his fire and gazed into the darkness of his canopy bed. He couldn't stop thinking, couldn't stop imagining. His mind had twisted and turned, trying to think of a reason why he had agreed to pretend to be friends with Granger. He didn't understand why he had. He could swear that he'd feel this strange emotion envelop him whenever he thought of her or was in her presence, but he always shrugged it aside. That couldn't be a reason. He couldn't possibly be enjoying her presence, her voice, her mind. He just couldn't; it was ridiculous!

But why?

He ruffled his hair, scratching his scalp. And finally, when his clock glowed three thirty, Draco finally understood – or so he thought – why he had agreed to be her friend. He was truly fascinated by the girl called Granger. His mind recalled the amount of times he had watched her throughout the year, how many questions had cropped up and how many of them were still unanswered. Draco liked questions; he liked puzzles. But he hated curiosity ever since his father had taught him it was wrong. He learned the hard way; Draco always learned the hard way.

One day at the manor when he had nothing to do – there was only so much entertainment a manor could hold before it became plain and unexciting – he went to see what his father was doing in the basement. Draco had always found it peculiar that his father would look over his shoulder anxiously before slipping through the hidden door. He'd watch, fascinated, as his father placed complicated curses that made elegant displays of light, slipping through and around the enchanted door. What was down there that was so secretive? Why did he hex it? Draco watched it all from the shadows. It was such a mystery, arising many curious questions.

No one as young as he had been should ever see what he had seen. No one deserved to see a sight so violent, so gory, so horrific. He still shivered when he thought of it.

But the punishment inflicted on him after being discovered hiding in the closet sitting and shaking in his own piss was nearly as bad as seeing the graphic torture. He could still see that frail person, so weak from torture, thin from starvation, hair but a few thin, grimy strands, face hollow with eyes bulging unnaturally from their sockets, crazed by spells, hanging limply, desperately from the iron shackles around his wrists and ankles, and opening his mouth in silent pain, his screams and moans muffled by some charm that Lucius had placed on him. Maybe Lucius had even ripped out his vocal cords; he was sick man, "crushing the curiosity out of him," the older Malfoy had said as he had cursed his son with a light _Crucio_. It wasn't torture; it was punishment. He had been merciful, really he had been.

And he had tried to obey his father's simple command and crush his curiosity out of his being, and he had almost succeeded. The world had turned into a very boring world, but there were fewer questions. Suddenly, in walked Hermione Granger, a girl that would bring out the curiosity in the most apathetic, uncaring person. It was mind-boggling how smart and thoughtful she was, how feisty, stubborn and caring, how sympathetic, how strong and innocent, yet possessing the ability to control one of the darkest spells of Dark Magic. And it was amazing how she could smile and laugh and pretend that her life was fine when her parents were divorced and she had committed manslaughter.

It was inspiring, he supposed, because – frighteningly -- it reminded him of himself, except the smiling in public part. He didn't smile, unless there was a damn good reason to. He had this desire to kill her, eliminate his curiosity. But just a taste of the old feeling was so tempting that he couldn't lock it away again. Merlin, he was a lost soul. He wanted to kill her, but he wanted to keep her by his side so that he could study her. And pretending! The idea was so childish, and yet, somehow, practical. It was only going to be for winter vacation, mostly because there was no one else in the castle that captured his attention, no one but Granger. And when Blaise and Pansy returned, he'd drop her like she'd probably drop him when her "precious" boyfriend and Wonder-Boy Potter stepped back onto Hogwarts grounds. He could already imagine her lunging herself into his arms, throwing herself unashamedly around Weasley as if he was her breath in an airless world. The thought nauseated him.

Then again, the last day of school before winter vacation had been questionable, when she had deliberately avoided them. What was going on with them anyway? Was Weasley's pretty face breaking up the relationship? He wouldn't be surprised. After all, Granger wasn't the prettiest broom on display. She was packed in the backroom with the dust…but she was an interesting broom, one that hadn't been tested thoroughly and still had some bugs in it, but nonetheless exciting to try. No one ever wanted the old broom in the back; it was always the beautiful one rotating on display in the window.

While Draco thought of Granger and her status in the cruel hierarchy of the feminine world, he groggily sauntered towards the bathroom, looking forward to a nice hot shower. He opened his door and froze, seeing the thought in question dressed in Muggle clothing and hair up in a loose ponytail, and sitting curled on one of the large Common Room chairs. She turned a page of her book and kept reading. _Keep reading, keep reading_, he chanted in his mind. He tip toed towards the bathroom, hoping he could make it past her undetected.

"What do you want to do today?" she asked casually, her eyes turning to the other page to read the fine print gleaming up at her.

"I don't know," he said automatically and he inched his way towards the door. "Flying?"

"I don't fly," she stated immediately, then added, "But I'll watch you."

"Ok," he said, now safely in the bathroom with his head only sticking out. "I'll just take a quick shower then and we'll be on our way. I need to practice my Snitch snatching anyway."

"All right," she said and then called out as he closed the door, "Nice boxers!"

Draco glared at the reflection in the mirror whose face was turning a deep red. Why was Draco Malfoy flushing? Many girls had seen him dressed in his boxers; Pansy had seen him dressed in nothing! So why were her peering eyes so humiliating?

Because it was Hermione Granger's eyes.

And he could practically feel those brown eyes of hers glinting in amusement through the door.

:-:-:-:-:-:-:

Hermione turned another page in the large novel that rested on her lap. Giving her eyes a rest, she glanced upwards and watched a dark figure chase after a golden glint that zipped through the air. She held her breath as he dipped dangerously towards the ground, picking up speed as he descended. And suddenly, he stopped, making her wonder if he had ever been flying as high as he had been his fall has been so casual.

She exhaled in relief and she turned back to her text, but she found the words blurred together into a smeared mess. She fingered the page, thinking of him, how strange and exciting it was to pretend to be friends with him. And true, she felt a slight prick of guilt poke at her, but she swatted it away. This was the only way to get what she wanted, to expand her skill, and maybe if she _did_ expand it, maybe she could use her Dark Magic for good, and help Harry bring down the Dark Lord…yes, everybody would remember her then, wouldn't they? Everybody would recall Hermione Granger, Dark Witch who brought down the Dark Lord and his minions with their own Dark Magic; Harry wouldn't overshadow her then.

It's not as selfish as it sounded. Was it that bad to want to share in some of the glory that should rightfully be hers? Who was the one who helped them more than once to get through the maze to the Philosopher's Stone? Who was the one who concocted the Polyjuice Potion to get information about the Chamber of Secrets in Second Year? Who was the one who helped Harry when he needed to get past the Hungarian Horntail back in Fourth Year? Ron was too busy moaning and groaning about his poverty. And who was the one who got rid of Umbridge in the Forbidden Forest?

Her. Always her. And everybody remembered Harry because he always fought the bad guy and won in the end, slightly scratched, but nothing serious – except the loss of Sirius that one time. He still hadn't forgiven himself for that, even after two years he still beat himself up for Sirius' death; she noticed that his eyes would turn glassy, threatening with hot tears whenever he looked at pictures of black dogs.

She wasn't belittling Harry. He was a good soul, and he deserved the glory that was bestowed on him. And he was always humble about it to the point that she sometimes wondered if it was all an act. But she always pushed that thought out of her mind. He had lost his parents when he was a baby. He had to live with his horrible relatives for what must have felt like centuries. Harry was always depended upon whenever the times got rough; it weighed a person down eventually. And the death of Sirius, Cedric, all hovering over him, she knew Cedric's death still troubled him.

But shouldn't she get a little of the glory that they'd reap when they brought down Voldermort? She knew she wouldn't get as much as she should receive. Ron would probably get more; after all, Harry loved him more than he loved her. Back in fourth year, when one of the tasks was to retrieve what the Champion loved most before the Merpeople killed them – stupid Harry, he could have easily one first place if he hadn't had waited! Always so noble…and hurtful. She was slightly…jealous that Harry would choose Ron over her. She would have probably felt incredibly offended if Krum hadn't been there to put her at the bottom of the lake, making her feel _somewhat_ special, and she would admit that she had been jealous of Ron. After all, Ron had hated Harry for a quarter of the year, believing he had tried purposefully to get himself into the Triwizard Tournament; he didn't believe Harry. She did. She always believed him and she was always there to help him. The same couldn't be said about Ron.

What was so bloody special about the imbecile? He always whined about his poverty. He was always jealous of Harry, ever since meeting him on the train and watching Harry be practically bowed to. He was always jumpy. He always cheated…constantly: school, chores, games, girlfriends…

Her fist clenched tightly together and the pages of the book fluttered violent under her hands.

"What are you thinking about?" a voice asked, startling her. She gasped and looked up. Draco hovered next to her, his feet resting on the bleachers. He swerved over so that he was in front of her. And remarked darkly, "I asked you a question."

Ignoring his rudeness, she replied calmly, "Nothing."

"Something upset you a lot; the wind almost blew me into one of the bleachers," he said, shaking his head and smirking. "The wind's not stirring now."

Hermione smirked. Although slightly worried, she was pleased somewhat that she had caused such a great effect. "I need to be able to control my emotions better. Or else…who knows what'll happen."

Draco nodded. She looked at him, searching for his eyes and miraculous found them sooner than she had expected. "Will you help me?" she asked quietly and added quickly, "I don't want to be stuck in another incident like in the Common Room that one night."

"We'll see," he said quietly, avoiding her eyes. She tried to hide her smile. She was grateful to even get a reply. He looked down at the book in her hands; it looked really boring. The tiny print didn't look inviting, but he knew from experience that many books had secrets that only few could find, and even understand. He circled his broom around her again, making her pony tail swing slightly in the wind. He looked down at her, admiring how her jeans accented her legs, her thighs, and how her white thick-knitted turtleneck sweater gave her an innocent glow, almost cuddly. Her brown eyes stared up at him, and her cheeks and lips were a rosy red from the nippy air. A few short strands of hair that had fallen loose from the holder hung delicately around her face, pulling out her cheekbones. She looked very pretty and Draco hoped his blush could be excused by the cold wind. "Do you—" he began but his voice was dry and raspy. He cleared his throat – damn puberty. "Do you want to try flying? I know there're extra brooms somewhere."

She sat silent, pondering, her eyes inspecting her clean shoes. "I don't like flying. Heights, you know," she said quietly, shrugging and giving him a bashful grin.

He smirked. "Then you have no idea what you're missing."

He pulled away from her, flying directly vertically and then flipping over on his back before spiraling downward. Hermione watched his hand dig into his jacket and release a golden Snitch. Then he was after it, swirling and diving and following it around, not bothering to catch it. He wanted to practice swerving and diving more than catching it. It looked exhilarating. He seemed to be one with the wind, as if invisible wings were attracted to his back. He really was graceful in the air; why didn't he catch the Snitch before Harry? He seemed to be around the same level. Maybe because he was the captain and had to keep his eyes on his team at the same time, whereas Harry only had to keep his eyes on the Snitch; he had stepped down from the captain position and had let Ron take it instead. Damn Ron, always jealous, she wouldn't have been surprised if Ron had bullied him into it, made Harry feeling guilty about always getting everything while Ron was left bone dry. His selfishness disgusted her; she couldn't believe she hadn't seen it before.

Her eyes traveled back to Draco who soared majestically in the cold winter wind, as if it was his home, as if he truly belonged there. He looked so…beautiful.

Hermione shook her head, making the loose strands of hair that framed her face shake and tickle her skin. She brushed them away from her eyes and looked down at her book, her gloved fingers turning the page with slight difficulty. Hermione Granger did not fly. No way. The last time she even _touched_ a broom was back in First Year. She didn't even know why they even bothered to have that class. She'd stick to airplanes, cars and buses where she'd be inside and protected…flying on a broom was just dangerous.

But exciting, she supposed…

"Then you have no idea what you're missing…" 

What _was_ she missing? Hermione always hated missing out on things. She knew she missed a lot of things. She missed the newest gossip in the girls bathroom. She missed the hilarious conversations in the Common Rooms. She missed the inside jokes. Sometimes, she didn't even feel like a Gryffindor house member when someone would say a word and they would all erupt in loud, uncontrollable laughter and share secret looks, driving her and the rest of the school population crazy. And she'd laugh along, pretending that she knew…but she really didn't. She once wished that she wasn't so interested in literature and facts and formulas. She wished that she could just be a normal girl who was just…normal. But what was normal anyway?

_Not me, that's for sure_, she thought glumly and sadly. A flash of gold and platinum hair caught her eye, and she looked at the flying Slytherin. She had to admit, that although the main reason why she had suggested that they pretend to be friends was so that she could eventually get him to teach her deeper Dark Magic, she did enjoy his company. He wasn't immature like Ron. He wasn't oblivious to her feelings. In fact, she was surprised at his reactions. He could detect the things inside of her that Ron was never able to.

Now, it's not because Ron was uncaring, or that he didn't love Hermione. In fact, he loved her a lot – that incident with Lavender, he'd die a thousand deaths if he could take that one moment back and _oblivate_ it from history. But Ron didn't have people skills. He had a hard time to see what a person was feeling inside, and it was a gift he lacked, and one Draco possessed.

But as she watched Draco, she could see the same pleasure of flying in his face whenever he flew by her closely. It was a fast blur, but she could still see it, feel it. It was practically tangible. And she supposed it was the only thing that Draco and Ron shared in common; everything else was just about as opposite as the north and south poles. What was so wonderful, so spectacular about flying?

Maybe he'd teach her one day…

No! She'd never fly. Ron couldn't tell what people were feeling inside; she couldn't fly, and Draco…Draco couldn't trust.

Pushing all flying and ex-boyfriend thoughts out of her mind, Hermione focused on her book. A minute later, her large volume was resting lazily on her lap and her eyes were following Draco again. She was having fun. There were no arguments. No bitterness that no one could understand her. No frustration from hearing the same old question if they could copy her homework. No sound but her deep breath and his broom whizzing through the air. She liked being near him. It was a nice change. And she wondered if he was having fun too, if he liked pretending to be friends with her, if he thought it was a nice change, if he was enjoying her presence like she was enjoying his, even just a little. And somehow, that slight hope gave her a warm feeling in her chest and gut, so warm that she shivered in anxious pleasure.

:-:-:-:-:-:

Draco sat nervously in a chair opposite of her door. No…he wasn't _nervous_ nervous…he was…who the hell cares what he was? He sure didn't want to know! Nervous or not, he was sitting in the chair, his elbow propped on the chair arm, his right ankle resting on his left knee that was shaking anxiously. He didn't even notice it until he looked down, which he soon tried to desist, but found the thought easier than actually fulfilling it. He made a motion to get up, but paused and then quickly retreated back into his "deciding" position, knee bouncing furiously.

"It's one little question!" he snapped at himself, stomping his crossed leg back on the ground and holding onto his knees with his hands. He didn't know why this was so hard, why it was so frustrating! If it were Blaise or Pansy, there would be no problem, no question, literally. He'd drag them with him anyway. But this wasn't Blaise or Pansy; this was Hermione.

But they were pretending, weren't they? And it was only for the break, wasn't it? So anything that they did during the break would never be alluded to ever again, everything would go back to normal, the bickering and the like, right? This weeklong truce would never extend further than winter break. Of course not. It was just a plan for her to enjoy her break without a nasty quarrel every day with him..._Of course!_ Why didn't he see that? Now it made sense.

Then why was he finding himself attracted to her presence? Why was he finding himself drawn to her, always letting personal questions slip, always asking what was on her mind, always desiring to find out who she was, how her mind worked, how soft her skin was? It disgusted him, the amount of times he had sat across from her while teaching her how to play wizard chess (he wasn't that good, Blaise somehow always outmatched him, and Draco was enjoying teaching someone who was worse than him, which didn't last long for she soon was beating him) and had a powerful urge to just caress her face and take her by surprise, and watch those brown eyes widen, watch her red lips part, and simply lose himself in the ecstasy of her pure surprise, her pure self, her pure lips.

Well, maybe her pure lips weren't as pure as he would have dreamed them to be. After all, Weasley had defiled them. But her purity…his filth must easily wash off her; it _had_ to, he _needed_ it to. And again he found himself wondering why she let herself be treated so lowly by him, how she could let him do anything to her without any complaint. She should have been worshiped, not degraded by that disgusting, rabid beast labeled a wizard.

But Draco didn't like her. Not one bit. He merely was fascinated by her uniqueness, and thought that her uniqueness should be praised, for it was rare to find a girl like her amongst the sea of identical girls. It had been years since he had found anyone as interesting as her, someone that had fascinated him so much that he longed to ask question after question, and the desire -- although frowned upon at first -- was a desire that he enjoyed immensely. And sometimes, clichés truly do express the atmosphere that Draco was stuck in: he was a moth attracted to the flame that was Hermione. He hated that cliché…he wasn't a _bug_. He was a mighty dragon, a noble steed, a deadly hawk…it didn't matter what majestic creature he was! All Draco knew for sure that he was _not_ a bug – although, that seemed to be the _only_ thing he knew for sure. Oh! all this thinking hurt his head!

But here he was, sitting nervously in a common room chair. He swallowed and walked to the door, trying to muster up a justified explanation to his odd behavior. And as he knocked on the door, he realized that he didn't have one, and that was just another question that he wanted to ask her.

:-:-:-:-:-:

Hermione woke up from a pleasant dream of racing after Ron on the hottest broom in the Quidditch World (wonderfully supplied by Malfoy), and clonking him over and over and over again on the head with a Beater's bat till there was nothing left of the new face that had attracted all the females in the Hogwarts population. It had looked pretty meaty by the time she was done.

She still wore a smile on her face when she opened her bedroom door and looked up at a cool Draco. "Yes?" she asked casually, glancing at the clock ticking over the fireplace that read 9:30. "What is it?"

"I was wondering," he paused. She had no idea how frustrated he was that his tongue kept twisting unnaturally in his mouth as he tried to speak. However, no trace of uneasiness pulled at his face as he smoothly continued, "if you'd care to accompany me to Hogsmeade for some Christmas shopping? I'm sure you have to buy your friends and family something, right?"

She stared at him in amazement, nearly overwhelmed by his cologne that smelled so wonderful. She wanted to lean against his chest and breathe it in deeply forever, but she had her dignity…and sanity. "Um, sure," she said, nodding her head and clearing her throat that had mysteriously tightened. "When do you want to leave?"

"Whenever you're ready."

"Right…I'll be ready in…half an hour at most?" she asked more than said.

He raised an eyebrow and she was about to change the time until he cut her off and said, "Wow…you're fast. Pansy takes at least an hour."

"Well…not much to do. Shower, dress and go, you know?" she said, chuckling nervously. He smirked and turned to wait on the couch. She went over to the bathroom and locked the door behind her. It wasn't until she was in the shower, the water drowning out whatever sounds she would have made that she covered her mouth and giggled so girly that it would have made Parvati and Padma proud.

Meanwhile, Draco lounged on the couch, his chest considerably lighter. "And did I panic?" he asked no one in particular. "I think not!"

:-:-:-:-:-:-:

Hermione's gloved fingers trailed along the glass, as they looked through the fourth store together. Being Heads, they easily arranged a carriage to take them to the little village near the castle. It was a comfortable drive. They had exchanged pleasantries; Hermione mostly sharing fond memories of her past while Draco listened attentively. He enjoyed the one of Uncle Milton choking on the Christmas Ham, and in the scramble to help him in the living room where they had decided to eat, knocked over the Christmas tree into the blazing fireplace.

She looked over at Draco who was bartering with the seller in French. It was an expensive store, then again, Malfoy's always shopped in the best places. Hermione would never dream of coming into a shop like this with Ron or Harry. Especially Ron; he would make outrageous protests to the prices on everything.

"Her-Hermione!" Draco called. He had fumbled over her name and she smiled. It actually felt like they were friends when they called each other by their first names. It was different…it was fun.

"Yes, Draco?" she replied, watching in amusement as his eyes flashed with an emotion that she couldn't place; it happened every time she said his name. Maybe he was unused to his enemy talking to him so comfortably. Nonetheless, she'd say his name forever if the look in his eyes would return. It was mysteriously cute, causing his pale eyes to swirl somehow. She enjoyed catching him off guard; it was always a satisfying feeling.

"Could you try this on for me?" he said, holding up a fur coat. "I'm getting it for Pansy and you're about her height."

Hermione looked at the expensive coat and attentively tried it on, scared of even leaving her fingerprints in fear of damaging the fine cloth. She looked in the mirror and smiled at her reflection. The coat was long, reaching her ankle. The fabric was made out of dark green velvet. Along the rim of her hood and the cuffs, brown mink fur tickled her bare skin. She turned and watched the bottom part of the coat swirl royally, swinging side to side. She buttoned it up, admiring how slim and well-proportioned she looked in it. There must have been some sort of spell on it to flatter the person's appearance.

"What do you think? Will she like it?" Draco asked, watching Hermione model on the small podium. "Turn around again. Slowly."

She did as she was ordered, blushing as she caught his silver eyes and reluctantly undid the buttons while saying, "She'll love it."

Hermione touched the mink, testing the softness and she pulled back quickly as an angry French man scolded her in French. Draco calmed him down somehow with his cold eyes and the man appeared to apologize. Draco waved him off and muttered something that Hermione assumed was, "We'll take it." When had he taken French lessons anyway? She'd have to ask him later.

As she watched the coat be folded neatly into the box, the clerk lady cashed it up, while remarking, "Shurly your girlfriend vill vant to vear this coat immediately? It looked fabulous on 'er!"

"What?" Draco asked surprised, wondering quickly if Pansy was nearby, until he noticed the salesclerk eyes on Hermione. "Oh, no. This is for another person."

"Oh…forgive me," she said and hurriedly, but neatly folding the coat and wrapped the box in beautiful Christmas decorated paper. " 'ere you go."

"Merci," Draco said, taking the bag. Hermione nodded to the lady and smiled. She returned it and winked.

Afterwards, Hermione and Draco found themselves sitting comfortably in one of the Three Broom Sticks booths, a mug of eggnog in their mugs. Madam Rosemerta was getting more into the Holiday spirit having balls of holly sing Christmas carols, a branch of mistletoe under the doorway, and many other things that took time to look at carefully. The room was packed with Holiday spirit. Most of the customers were adults, very few students.

"So…what'd you get?" Hermione asked after taking a sip of her eggnog.

"Well, the coat for Pansy," Draco began. Hermione felt a pang of jealous shoot through her and she tried to hide her scowl. "A bottle of perfume for my mother, and a large keg of Whisky for Blaise – Merlin knows he loves the stuff."

"Draco! You know students aren't allowed to have alcohol on school grounds!" she hissed. Draco looked at her over the rim of his mug, his silver eyes flashing in amusement. "Rules are meant to be…_bended_, I think _you_ of all people would know that considering you've been bending them since first year," he remarked with a pointed look.

"That's not bending; that's breaking!" she exclaimed. Draco laughed, and her cheeks turned a rosy shade as she added, "I was referring to Blaise."

He chortled into his eggnog. Hermione glared at him before returning to her own drink and talking a large gulp. "What about your father? What did you get him?" she asked, noticing that he hadn't mentioned him while he had named off his Christmas list.

Draco looked darkly into his mug, a look so dark and angry that she quickly looked away. His voice was equally as cold, but she knew it wasn't directed to her. "My father and I don't exchange presents. We only celebrate the holiday for mother; she's the one who keeps it going."

"Oh," was all that Hermione said. She knew that Draco didn't want to talk about it any longer.

Draco looked around the room, feeling lighter as he continued to admire the Christmas spirit filtering through the room. There had to have been some type of Happy Charm placed in the room for him to cheer up so quickly after thinking of his father. The chimney corner was blazing with a merry fire, little dolls were singing Christmas carols and dancing along the fireplace ledge, a Christmas tree shaped candle was lit in the middle of each table, and Madam Rosemerta went table to table, a crown of holly in her hair and little bells jingling around her wrists. Another series of little chimes caught his ear and he could hear her jingle towards them. "Merry Christmas! Can I get you both another mug of eggnog?" she asked happily, engulfed in the Christmas spirit. Draco found it rather appalling. They both shook their heads and she jingled off to harass another table with her eggnog.

Draco looked at Hermione. He wondered if he was supposed to say something. Usually Pansy just said whatever was on her mind; they usually were one-sided conversations. "So…" he began, scanning his brain for a nice question that could lead her to ramble and let him remain mute. "What did you get?"

"Oh! Well, nothing much," she replied, but her eyes were unable to hide her pleasure that he had asked her. " I got a new book on the Wizard world for Dad – he's been so fascinated about the magical world since I received my letter to Hogwarts. A few classical CDs for Mom – she used to be a musician, you know, and she told me once that she'd like to hear if the Wizard music was different from Muggle. A new pair of Quidditch gloves for Harry with a stitched golden Snitch on the corner, the latest CD by the Weird Sisters for Ginny…and that's it, I think."

He raised an eyebrow. "That's it? What about your dear boyfriend? Aren't you going to give him hair dye to change that ridiculous orange mane of his? You'd think they would have changed it for him while they were fixing his face."

He chuckled at his own insult, which faded as he saw the sour look on her face. Her eyes seemed to be a shade or two darker than normal and narrowed. She clenched her mug with white knuckles and drained whatever was left. "Madam Rosemerta? Please? Thanks," she said, indicating to her cup. The older woman went behind the counter to fill her order.

"Gran-Hermione," he said cautiously, trying to see her eyes, trying to figure out what she was feeling. Did he just say something offensive? He didn't think so, after all, he could have said something much worse, something incredibly crude and offensive, but he had checked himself in time. Surely making fun of her boyfriend's outrageous hair was not that offensive? She at least had to agree with him though: Weasley's hair was just ridiculous. What was bothering her then? Why was she so touchy about her boyfriend?

"Hermione—"

"I don't want to talk about him. _Ever_," she snapped, emphasizing the last word.

_So something bad happened…_he thought to himself. He watched her clutch her new mug filled to the brim and drink half of it in one go. That surely couldn't have been good for her; after all, Madam Rosemerta had admitted she used the Ol' Three Broomsticks recipe, which involved more alcohol than required. Consuming too much would definitely leave the drinker with a buzz. _Did she have a fight with him? Is that why she didn't say goodbye to him at the train station? Anger? Unsettled issues? Do tell, sweet, naïve Gryffindor, **do** tell…_

Draco leaned forward, a position that would have made a girl think he was flirting with her by letting his cologne tickle her nose. And maybe Draco was unconsciously doing that, but he'd used any means to find out what was going on amongst the Gryffindor Trio. From what information that had already been laid down, he could infer that Hermione and Potter were still on good terms; she had bought him a pair of nice gloves. But what was the deal between Hermione and Weasley? The only time he enjoyed gossip was when it was about the Gryffindor Trio – and only when there was something terrible brewing between the three.

"He upset you," he stated, watching her shoulders tense. He wondered if he was getting warm. Nonetheless, he continued to make suggestions in hope she'd tell him some more juicy details. "He doesn't know, either. Come on, Granger. Too much tension in a person could cause serious injuries to their shoulders. I see you need a sympathetic ear," he said gently. So what if his ear was never sympathetic? It had caught her eyes and he knew she was waiting to boil over and blab all her troubles. He pushed her a little further. "You can tell me."

"It's none of your business," she said quietly. He knew he was weakening her.

"What's upset you so much? What did he say? What did he do?" he asked, his voice sickly sweet. She was stubbornly silent. Now it was getting annoying. He hated when he didn't get the answer immediately; he had always been impatient. He leaned back in his chair, and taking a sip out of his mug, casually remarked, "Did he cheat on you or something?"

"Shut up, Malfoy!" she nearly yelled, slamming her hands on the table and causing a few heads to turn at the sound. Draco glared at prying eyes that eventually returned to their own table. He cocked his head to the side and looked at her, a smirk twisting on his face. So Weasley had cheated on her, had he? "Ah," he said lightly in an aggravating manner, "Twisted a nerve there, didn't I?"

"Don't patronize me," she snapped. Draco noticed the candle flame in the middle of their table flicker. He looked up at her again, watching her face contort in rage, in betrayal. "It's _your_ fault it even happened in the first place!"

More heads turned and looked at the screaming, teary-eyed girl. "Hermione!" he hissed, warning her to lower her voice.

"Don't 'Hermione' me!" she whispered fiercely. "If you didn't get sick enjoyment out of tormenting me and Ron then none of this would have happened. If you could have just ignored him and not gotten into some dumb fist fight with him, then you wouldn't have burned his face and he wouldn't have had to get that face shaping ,plastic surgery, or whatever the bloody hell it's called then he wouldn't have cheated on me with that stupid, idiotic, airhead, Lavender! It's _all your fault_! I hate you! You ruined everything!"

She was shouting again, and now people were looking at them in irritation, more because she was disturbing their conversations, but some, he could tell, believed that he was breaking up with her due to the way she was yelling at him; what a horrible Christmas present. Draco shot her a warning glare. She ignored it. "Everything was fine without you getting in the way! And now it's all ruined!" she said, her voiced choked with tears. A couple droplets fell from her eyes and slid hotly down her cheek. It was rather beautiful when it caught the candlelight.

"Hermione…not in here," he said, already getting more glances than wanted. _Don't let her breakdown in here! _"Keep yourself together!" he hissed.

"Keep my-myself together?" she said, sobbing and chocking. "H-how can I when my-my boyfr-friend cheated on me!"

"He cheated on her!" a blond nearby whispered to her girlfriend, and they both sent Draco a murderous look. _Right…they try and kill each other when trying to get the same guy, but then they band together when the one they had been battling against is in distress…that makes **tons** of sense…females…_he sighed.

Hermione had now reduced to sniffling, wiping her nose fiercely with a napkin. He looked at her and leaned back in his chair. "Well," he began. He paused and tried to think of something comforting to say. Pretending to be friends with her was now starting to get hard. The small, playful debates, walks around the lakes, flying, chess-playing, and Christmas shopping where fine, almost fun, but did he really have to comfort her? He never comforted girls. Ok, so that wasn't exactly true. He could comfort girls, but not girls like _Granger_. She didn't accept physically comfort, that wasn't what soothed her. With girls like Granger, he needed to use words, words of comfort, words that held meaning. He thought of Weasley, his new face and him cheating on Lavender. "Well, I can't say I'm surprised."

Draco didn't know what he said that was so bad; all he knew was that Hermione had stormed out of the Three Broomsticks, and he had to grab his things and quickly pay a flustered Madam Rosemerta, before chasing after the wailing girl. "Bloody Merlin! What is going on?" he demanded, wishing someone was there to actually give him a logical answer while he chased after her. The wind had picked up and he was trying to figure out which direction she had gone. The streets were packed and he strained to look over the people's heads, trying to find her. Eventually, he spotted her turn sharply down one street that led to the castle. Draco sprinted after her, tempted to drop his bags and chase after her. He didn't know how long he had been running, but it felt like quiet awhile. In fact, he wondered briefly if she was flying away from him, she was going so fast.

"Hermione! Wait!" he yelled after her. "Damn it! What did I say?"

"What did you say? If you really think I'm that ugly, then just say it! You remark about my dirty blood so easily, why don't you continue on with the nasty insults and just tell me I'm fat, that I'm hideous, that a person would rather die a hundred, thousand painful deaths than have to touch me with a ten foot pole!" she screamed. Draco dropped his bags to the ground, stunned. He hadn't said anything of the sort!

"What the hell are you talking about!" he yelled in confusion. "I never said any of that. All I said was that I wasn't surprised he cheated on you."

"Exactly!" she glared, new, angry tears falling from her eyes. A cold blast of wind hit him, nearly knocking him over. He noticed that she was standing undisturbed.

"Exactly what?" he yelled over the roar of the wind. He held onto the ground, somehow digging his nails into the cold earth in a desperate attempt to keep from flying away. Now he knew she was doing it, she was controlling the wind. He heard his bags fly away. He hoped nothing was damaged.

"Of _course_ you're not surprised he cheated on me! Who could ever love someone like me? How could a good looking guy like Ron ever love me? Who would love someone with nasty, bushy hair? Fat thighs, pudgy face, flat nose, small boobs… guys like perfect blonds anyway, don't they? Girls like Pansy. All perfect and beautiful," she said scornfully.

"What?" he yelled in shock and outrage. "I didn't say that you were hideous! Stop the wind and I'll tell you what I meant. I didn't mean anything that you said."

"Liar! Why should I believe you?"

His mind searched for an answer. What would be good reason for her to believe him? He was left bone dry, no good reason entered into his head. And right now, he didn't want to think of a good reason. He was becoming angry. He was cold and dirty, and a Malfoy never likes to be cold or dirty, especially at the same time. His frustration with the over-analyzing female mind was overpowering to the point where he finally bellowed, "BECAUSE, DAMN IT, I'M COLD!"

He didn't know if she heard him, the icy wind seemed to have muffled his words, but eventually the wind died and he was left on his stomach, his fingers still clutched into the cold dirt his. He could feel the dirty soil stuck under his nails. Hermione called out to him. "What did you mean?"

"I meant that now with his new face, Weasley would be a bigger idiot than he was before and he'd be overwhelmed by all the female attention he'd receive because of his new looks. He's weak when it comes to denying beauty; it'll be his downfall," he said breathing heavily. He felt incredibly cold.

"It's already his downfall with me," she said quietly, and Draco was startled at her sudden appearance. "Here," she said, holding out a hand to help him up. His grimy hand locked with hers and she helped pull him up. She didn't let go of his hand.

"I'm sorry," she whispered, looking down and away in shame. "I shouldn't have accused you like that. That was wrong for me to do that…it's just…what's wrong with _me_? I thought he loved me; he said he did. If he loved me, then he wouldn't have snogged her. If he loved me…why did he betray me like that?"

Draco desperately hoped she wasn't going to cry again, and so he told her what he told many weeping girls in the past. "He's an idiot, Hermione. He's not worth your time."

She smiled up at him and surprising him completely, leaned in and gave him a grateful hug. "Thank you," she said. Draco raised one awkward arm and put it lightly on her back. She didn't let go.

He cleared his throat. "Right…"

She clutched tighter onto him. He had never felt so depended on before that moment, and somehow, it made him proud that someone in the world needed him. And strangely, as he lifted his other arm to give her a complete embrace, he realized that what he had said earlier about Weasley being a waste of her time, he actually meant it. And even scarier, a small voice had commented to him that _he_ wouldn't have been a waste of her time.

It started to call to him again as he remembered, and he covered it by saying, "We need to work on that anger problem of yours. If you blow up like that when Weasley comes back, it'll be a little harder to explain everything. And I'm sure Dumbledore won't be too pleased to find out that his prized student is gifted in the Dark Arts."

She chuckled and – fortunately for him – released him. She wiped her face clean of tears and gave a small smile. "You're going to teach me?"

"Well, I don't know anything about it," he said and paused before continuing. "But we can figure it out together? I need to learn how to control my burning problem. But I think I'm getting stronger."

"You are," she said, going and gathering their bags, checking Draco's gifts to make sure they weren't ruined.

"How do you know?" he asked curiously.

"I can just feel it, that's all," she shrugged as if it were simple question. She looked over her shoulder and smiled. He couldn't help but smile back, not because of the new news that he was getting stronger, but because her smile was just contagious. And to think…he helped make that smile so beautiful.

:-:-:-:-:-:-:-:

**Review!**


	10. Sweet revenge to the drunken tongue

**Cry Me Tears of Fire**

Pensive Puddles

"Don't you think we should have the cloak at least half way on, just in case?" Hermione asked nervously, as she glanced at the closed door. She had sneaked into Harry's room and taken his invisibility cloak easily since no one in Harry's room was staying at Hogwarts for the holidays.

"I don't like being under stuffy things like that. It's harder to read and you constantly have to be conscious that the cloak's covering you completely," Draco commented without pausing in his scanning in the Dark Book in his hands. "Unless of course, Hermione, you want to snuggle with me under the cloak?"

He raised one of his eyebrows and shot her a smug look. Hermione blushed and frowned while growling, "Leave it to you to twist everything I say into some sick pick-up line for you to grope me."

"I said no such thing of wanting to grope you. Those dirty thoughts are all yours," he remarked, flipping a page, but unable to hide his smile. She joined in. She enjoyed this type of bickering. It was playful, not mean. Hermione looked over at him, and watched his brow crinkle, as he tried to understand the dark text before him. Dark writing is always more complex to translate, let alone comprehend. It was trying even on Hermione's mind. She rested her eyes, and glanced at the clock that ticked over the doorway.

It was three in the morning. After the…incident at Hogsmead, Hermione had taken them back to Hogwarts using one of the shortcuts that the Marauders Map had shown her. Even though she never really told him where the map was originally from, he still was thoroughly impressed by the ingenious work involved in the map. Once they returned back to their rooms, Draco watched Hermione wrap the gifts she bought. He had never had to wrap his presents before and he had questioned why would she wrap them herself when she could just pay someone to do it for her. He was even more curious with her answer: it adds a personal touch.

He thought that was just plain stupid. Hermione didn't bother to argue. Either way, she had fun watching Draco sip his hot chocolate, trying to warm his body from the icy winds that she had inflicted upon him, or else he was trying to inflict even more guilt on her, which was probably the likeliest guess of the two. Nevertheless, she let him wrap one of the presents with her. It's incredibly how much amusement one can receive in watching Draco attempt to use tape, trying to cut it from the jagged edge. Sometimes he would continue to pull forward and down, making little squiggly lines in the tape and stretch it. He did catch on quickly and learn how to properly use it, in which he started to take pieces and put them in her hair, or placing it in the middle of her back and watching her squirm to take it off.

It was like he was a little boy for one moment. Hermione found it marvelous to behold. After two attempts of wrapping the same present because Draco was continuously unsatisfied with how the present looked, or how some of the paper appeared crinkly, or else the bow was uneven, Draco sobered up to his old self: becoming calm and finding tape not as thrilling as it once was. Hermione had a feeling that he had caught himself in what he had been doing, and finding it immature and so unlike himself, become uncomfortable and stopped, and then believed he had to act as sophisticated as he had always strived to act. Hermione still had to wrap his present, but that one was hidden in her room, away from the others. She hoped he liked his present, it was a last minuet gift: a silver lighter. It looked quite sleek, and it wasn't cheap, or expensive. But she had noticed how he liked to play with his lighter, and she thoughtfully thought he might like a new one. She was still debating whether or not to give it to him.

Do not judge so quickly. Hermione knew she didn't have to get Draco a present; he wasn't getting her one. So why did she spend her extra galleon on her enemy? Some might say that she was buying a gift to further please him into teaching her. Others might even go as far as to say that really, she had a deep, burning infatuation for him that was finally being reveled in Christmas cheer. And those 'others' are the ones completely reading in the wrong direction because she didn't love him, not in any respects. She found him amusing, interesting, intelligent, and quite handsome, but she knew that she could never love him because he wasn't her type; he wasn't what she had dreamed up at night to be her perfect man. Draco was far from it. And maybe the answer will remain unknown. Maybe Hermione bought it because she had always grown up in the 'give instead of receiving' moral. Or maybe she couldn't really understand why she bought it, but it just felt right, and she liked going with her 'just feels right' feelings.

After wrapping gifts and sending them off, they toddled off to the library. It was closed early, and not many students spent their time in the library anyway, except Hermione. But, after grabbing Harry's cloak and sneaking into the locked library, they sat down in the Restricted Area and carefully looked for books. At first, Hermione had to ask him which ones were safe. It seemed that Draco knew a lot about Dark books, which ones would wail and which ones would be toxic to the touch. After her own fingers had been singed by just touching the spine of the cover, Draco had taken the books for her, all those that were touchable. And he would perform the spells that would produce the anti-spell to keep poison from oozing from the pores of the books and burning their skin.

After four hours, they hadn't come across anything helpful, and it was wearing down her spirits of hope of expanding her skills. Hermione was also getting incredibly tired. She had to stifle yawns constantly, and when one did pass through her lips, she would hear Draco yawn back in return.

"Do you know anything originally about Controlling an Element?" she asked, putting back another useless book. She started to wrap a curl around her finger, a habit her hands had made when they had nothing else to do.

"Don't twirl your hair like that," Draco said, pulling her hand away from her hair. Hermione's stomach made a tiny twist at the mere touch of his palm against her skin. She reasoned that she must have been hungry but she dismissed the thought of food from her mind and gave a quick glare.

"Why do you care?" she snapped, reaching for her hair again.

"Because it distracts my thoughts, and it makes you look like one of those ditzy girls who twirl their hair and pop their gum," Draco retorted, slapping her hand lightly away from her face. She scowled and then lowered her hand only to play with her skirt. Draco rolled his eyes.

"So?" she continued as if nothing happened. "Do you know anything?"

"I don't know much. I vaguely recall that a person can control at least two elements, and the last person who was able to control more ended up exploding himself into ashes." Hermione shuddered at the thought.

"You become more emotional when you control an element," Draco continued, "because its main power source feasts on your emotions. Therefore, to be a good controller, you must funnel your emotions to a certain area that the Element can feast on without hurting yourself in the process. The controller must not loose control of himself, or herself, and I'm sure you can relate to that." He sent her a shrewd look.

She felt her cheeks warm at remembering how she had levitated in the air and had sent Draco flying backwards, making him dig his nails into the ground for support. She had to admit, however, she enjoyed the experience: being able to lift herself up off the ground. Again she wondered if Draco could read her thoughts because he lectured immediately, "You could have killed yourself if you hadn't had stopped."

"What? How?" she asked, startled. All she remembered was this stormy feeling inside her lower gut, spreading into her chest. She had felt so alive, so wild. It was exhilarating.

"Haven't you been listening?" he sighed agitatedly, which annoyed her. "Three reasons: One, if you become the controlled, and not the controller, you'll be eaten from the inside out by the element you posses. Two, you let your emotions get the best of you, and therefore, you almost sent me flying into a tree. I know you would have enjoyed seeing that, but -- and this is reason number three -- think if you were in a public place? You could have sent people flying into buildings and through windows, injuring them. The Ministry of Magic will tag you.

"Do you know what they do to Dark Magic controllers like us?" he said, staring her squarely in her eyes. Hermione grabbed her skirt. _Us?_ She wished his eyes weren't so harsh and martinet. She shook her head.

"They'll hunt us down, force us into hiding. And believe me, all those that control such Dark powers do go into hiding. Always nagging, always "checking up" on you, you have not one moment of piece from the Ministry. They raid your house continually. They make up excuses to check what you have. They have spies that watch your every move, trace your every step, record your every word. You have no privacy. Why? Because they're scared. They're scared of how powerful you could become. How you could become so powerful that you could destroy them with a simple chant, a simple wave of your hand. They are terrified of you and are terrified that you could overthrow them. They're jealous of what you have. They can never reach your potential because Dark Magic only inhabits the very few. Like us."

_Like us…like us…_she thought, repeating his words. She felt like a mutant, an outcast, and she, oddly, liked the sound, liked the idea of being different, found the idea ironic that the only person who was like her was once her worst enemy. Hermione looked away again. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean to get so out of control. You were right. I could have seriously injured you, maybe even killed you."

Draco didn't say anything, only continued to pick books off the shelves and glancing through them.

"Do you think it's possible," she said, trying to ease the tension between them, "to manipulate our elements to do our own biding? For instance, could you start a fire without having to use your lighter? I remember you once waved your hand at the fireplace and it sprung to life--"

"That was because the embers were still lit. I can make something like that grow into a large flame, but there must be a little bit of fire already alive. I don't know if it is possible," he said, not taking his eyes away from the small text in his lap. She wished he would look at her.

"Do you think there'd be a way, you know, for me to actually _fly_?" she asked, holding her breath as she waited for the answer.

"Maybe. I don't know," he said bluntly, not even remotely interested in the possibility of her being able to exploit an element to that degree. "As for now, let's just focus on trying to manipulate our powers to control small objects, like books and quills."

"How long do you think it will take?" she asked eagerly. She'd love to fly. She would be defying gravity in some regards, but at least she'd know then that she would be able to catch herself if she fell.

"I don't know!" he yelled. She jumped at the harshness in his voice and was taken back by the intense glare he was giving her. All she did was ask questions. She didn't mean for him to get so upset about it. What crawled up his arse and died was what she angrily wanted to demand, but instead she froze in her spot as they both heard the heavy footfalls of Filch and the greasy sounding speech he used when he talked to his pet.

"Did you hear that, Mrs. Norris? I think someone's out of bed. Let's go catch them if we can, and we will, won't we sweetie?" the old janitor rasped.

Hermione vaguely noticed how he reminded her of Gollum. She had no chance to voice her thought as Draco quickly grabbed the invisibility cloak and pulled it over them. "_Nox_," he whispered urgently and his light extinguished from the tip of his wand. Hermione quickly summoned hers to douse itself as well and tried to calm her nervous breathing.

Her breath caught in her throat as she felt Draco move closer to her, bringing his knees up further to curl in a ball. It was an odd feeling. She could feel his arm around her waist, and she knew her arm was under him and clasped to the middle of his back. Her legs were tangled up with his and his breath was beating down about her nose and trickling down her chest. She felt herself shudder at the feeling and she wanted to smack herself. Merlin's beard, she was thankful for the darkness. She didn't want him to see her embarrassment. Not because of the situation (well, because of the situation), but mostly because -- Merlin save her soul if the secret was revealed to any other-- she enjoyed the feeling of him pressing up against her and holding her, even if it was for his own sake, to keep himself from getting in trouble.

She heard the library door squawk open, and heard Filch's mutters of oiling the hinges. She heard his heavy footsteps tramp through the library, searching for the noise that had caught his attention. He held up his lantern and walked around the library, hovering near the Restricted section. He tended to let his eyes wander there more than any other place in the library. He lifted his lantern to peer between the bars of the section, casting it completely in light, and Hermione's hand naturally clenched the back of Draco's shirt tightly. Her heart was pounding. If Filch found the two of them, especially curled together in such an odd, questionable position under an invisibility cloak…her dignity would have totally been shot, not to mention her Head badge she had slaved over to get.

She prayed for a distraction. She concentrated so hard on imagining one of the armors in the hallways falling over. She could imagine it swaying, tilting back and forth. _A little further, just a little further!_ she urged. And she could see the knight fall over sideways. Oh, she wished it were true!

A loud crash echoed down the hallway, startling all three -- four if you count the cat, whose tail burst into five times it's regular size. "We've got them now! Always careless and frisky when they get nervous," the old squib said hungrily, like a pack of wolves gazing at a moose they were about to slaughter. Hermione wouldn't have been surprised if Filch were really part-werewolf; he craved catching students like a werewolf craved blood during the full moon.

His footsteps quickly scampered out of the room and they waited under the cloak a few more moments, just in case Filch decided return. Hermione felt incredibly light headed, and she looked up at Draco, noticing how his skin seemed to become infected with black dots, even the cloak behind him was starting to become speckled by those same dots. "Draco…"

And then the dots merged into one.

"Hermione!" a male voice called to her, rich and deep. She forced her eyes to open and blinked rapidly to clear her vision and adjust to the lit wand hovering near her face. "Hermione!" the voice said again.

"Yes?" she replied.

"Merlin, what the hell happened? Filch walks away and you freaking faint on my arm!" Draco said, scooting back to give her room to sit up.

"I…wait? Fainted?" she repeated, grabbing her head, which felt like it would float off her shoulders. And when the light-headedness finally wore off, it felt like a ton of concrete was resting on her crown. She wanted to lie back down again. But she merely massaged her temples and tried not to be so obvious in her pain. Draco was giving her a rather odd stare. Fainted, how embarrassing. And just when Filch was leaving. It would have made more sense if he had been right in front of them, but then again, to faint because of _Filch_? The whole situation was humiliating.

"There was that crash in the hallway and when he left, you just went limp. I thought you had finally relaxed, but when I tried to get you off my arm," he trailed off.

"I…don't remember," she said, very perplexed. "I must have been incredibly nervous and flustered. And tired. Draco, it's nearly four in the morning. Can we please go to bed and look again tomorrow?"

"No need," Draco said, getting up and dusting himself off. He held out a hand to help her up. "I have a book at home that might come in handy. I just need to send for it. I'll owl it in the morning."

"You've got a book at home? Then why have we been sitting her with cramped backs for the past million hours looking for something nonexistent?" she snapped angrily, massaging her aching back.

"One, because I've just remembered; two, because I was hoping that we could find a book here to help us somewhat; and finally three, it hasn't been a million hours, and it's not nonexistent. You really shouldn't exaggerate, it's quite aggravating to distort the truth over something to silly," he added.

"Has anyone ever told you that you're cranky when you don't get a lot of sleep?" she asked. She waited from some nasty remark he would have said, a hundred were already forming in her mind, but to her surprise, he remained absolutely silent for a moment longer and then, "What?"

"Nothing," she said, finding that repeating a nasty comment over dulled its malice. Besides, she was too tired to bear the nasty cycle they endured when they argued.

"Damn it, where is it? " he snarled, still groping at the ground. He sighed as he finally found the slippery material.

Hermione followed him as they sneaked back to their dorm. She wondered why Draco had been so tense. He seemed very unnerved about something. And he hadn't looked at her again. Maybe he just naturally became jittery after a nervous moment. She didn't know. All she knew was that she wanted to sleep.

:-:-:-:-:-:-:-:

"Hermione, it shouldn't be that hard. Your element is in everything; it should be easier to control than fire," Draco remarked, flopping himself down on the couch, watching a haggard Hermione stand in the middle of the Common room, focusing her attention on a book that was propped up on the table. Her goal: knock the book to the ground. Sounds easy, doesn't it? If only that were true.

"You've had more practice than I've had!" she argued.

"Not much," he said, rubbing his eyes and yawning.

"Can we take a break?" she begged. Draco had been grueling her for hours, only taking a break for lunch, which felt like ages ago.

"Yes, let's take a break," Draco said. Hermione sighed in relief before he added, "_After_ you knock the book over."

"You're an evil, _evil_ little ferret, do you know that?" Hermione snarled, glaring.

He merely smirked back. "Ha! I'm getting you angry. Funnel that emotion. Focus on the book. _Think_ of your element moving it. Do it."

Hermione looked at the book. She tried to imagine a wind shaped hand pushing it over. The book moved; it fluttered. "It's moving!" she exclaimed excitedly.

"Don't loose it!" Draco quickly said, as Hermione fell backwards, grabbing her head, the book falling back to its original place. "You lost concentration. You get too excited."

"Draco, I'm tired and hungry. I haven't slept – not if you call that 'nap' you let me have this morning sleeping. And I'm exhausted. I feel drained," she whined, tears of frustration pricking at her eyes. She hated it when she couldn't get something. And as Draco had said earlier, more than once, Dark Magic doesn't come from a book. It comes from the person and the talents inside of them. She was accustomed to learning from a book. Oral and physical experiments didn't work for her like they did for Harry.

"It is draining. I forgot how exhausted you feel. I used to feel like that," Draco said quietly. He looked up at the high ceiling above him.

_Fire. Pain. Brown eyes. Beautiful brown eyes filled with passion, energy, life, suddenly…dead. Dead bodies carried as if nothing more than a bag. Dark spirits, demons, suffocating, choking, dark and fierce. And he just watched…never once objecting._

"Draco?"

He blinked. "What?"

"You become unusually silent. Are you all right?" she asked, coming near him.

He paused and stared at her, as if seeing another person. He blinked slowly, his pupils dilating. "I'm fine. Just…thinking."

"What happened to you?" Hermione asked after a few more minuets of silence. "What did they do to you?"

"Who did what?" he asked, pretending he had no idea what she was saying. But he knew; he knew perfectly well what she was asking. And his stomach twisted, his lungs shriveled, his heart frosted and shot up into his throat, burning him.

"How did you become a Controller?" she asked. She wanted to know; he could see it in her eyes.

"I'll tell you when you can move that book," Draco replied, smirking. She gave a small smile, as if understanding that he wasn't going to open up any further.

"Don't you find it strange?" she asked suddenly, turning around.

"Find what strange?" he asked, now completely unaware of what she was asking.

"That we've become good friends, in just a couple days."

Silence.

"I thought this was just a truce," he stated more than asked.

She wished she had never spoken. "You're right," she said, giving a quick, silly giggle. "I forgot. We certainly play our parts well, don't we?"

"I suppose," he said. He looked away. Why did he feel so weird? Why did he hate the sound of the idea that they were playing parts? Why did he want…this…to be real? This was just another thing he didn't like about Hermione. He made him ask himself so many questions, and his head couldn't take much more.

A pecking made them turn their heads towards the window. Draco quickly got off the couch and opened the window to let a beautiful hawk enter. It dropped a package clasped in its talons on the desk, and then lightly rested on Draco's arm, waiting patiently for the letter to be untied from his leg. The boy noticed the marking, pausing for a minuet, as if dreading to take it. With a determined scowl, he took it off and nudged the hawk off. It took flight and Hermione watched it soar into the already navy blue night that captivated the sky.

"It doesn't bother you with treats or rewards?" she asked curiously.

"No. We don't spoil our birds," Draco said absently, opening the letter by running his finger against the tip, burning the delicate paper. Shaking it, the ashes fell to the ground and he pulled out the paper from inside.

"I thought you said you can't create fire," Hermione retorted.

"I'm not. My body heat is above normal, yet I'm not ill, nor in any risk of death. Since I've been expanding my trade, I've discovered that I can burn things just by touching them. Not seriously burn them, but, for instance, make paper crisp," Draco corrected and took out the letter. "It depends on how I direct the heat."

Hermione noticed how his fingers didn't leave any burned markings on the letter. She wished she could be as strong as Draco. She wished he'd stop being so secretive with her.

"I'm going to…continue practicing," she said, returning to her book.

Draco was relieved that she wasn't going to ask him whom the letter was from. He hated reading it; it was just another reminder of that terrible night that changed his life, for better or for worse, he wasn't quite sure.

_Draco,_

_Meet me at O'Brian's for good old times sake. Drinks are on me._

_Flint_

Flint also included the date and time. Draco crumpled the letter in his hand. He didn't want to go. He hated feeling like a pawn. Steam rose from around his hand and when he flung the letter out of the window, it was nothing more than ashes. He knew what Flint wanted to talk about. There must have been some news update on what the Dark Lord wanted. Draco dreaded every minuet of those meetings. He was just grateful that he didn't need to be present at most of the meetings in the Dark Lord's presence. Draco couldn't escape from school that often. Not to mention, he hated it when they would bring in a muggle or squib and torture them, sometimes taking bets on how soon the captive would crack. It was sick, one of Draco's least favorite things about meetings. But he had to go, or else Flint would report that Draco was neglecting the O'Brian's meetings. He had to go.

But did he really? He was the heir of Voldemort. He could do whatever he wanted. No, he didn't want to go. He wanted to stay, even if it involved helping Hermione translate the book the hawk had dropped off as well. Actually, he looked forward to discovering more about his art with someone who also knew what was going on. At least, she was smart, she'd have some logical suggestions if questions arose. No, he wasn't going to go.

"How's the book exercise coming along?" Draco called out, taking out his lighter and playing with it. He sprawled out on the couch, and created little figures with his fire.

Hermione rubbed her head. "I still don't understand what you want me to do."

"What's do hard about it? You just knock it over!" he scowled, standing to his feet. Coming up to her side, he held out his lighter and flicked it to life. It sparked a couple times. "Damn it, I'm almost out of fuel. There we go," he said as a small flame spluttered to life. Taking his hand, his fingers arched, he gathered the flame and pulled it away from the lighter.

"Watch," he said. "You gather your element. Then you push it forward." Draco pushed the ball of fire away from him lightly with his palm, and it was like it was rolling in the air towards the book. Gently it rolled. Draco focused on it, taking his index and middle finger and moving them in the direction he wanted the fireball to go. It followed his every movement. Up, down, around the book it went, rolling, jumping, and tumbling. "You got it now?" he said, roughly waving the ball into the fireplace where it made a small sputter in the hearth.

"I don't know…" she said, looking at the book. Draco stood behind her and took her hands.

"Hold them up," he instructed, moving them in the correct potion. "Now, gather the element. Command it to come towards you. You alone can bring it to yourself. It might fight. Always remember that you are superior, you are the commander. Gather it," he whispered now, watching as she closed her eyes, concentrating. Her eyebrows knitted together, her eyes twitched, her hands shook, he could feel power surrounding her. Her breathing became heavy.

"Push it forward," he commanded softly yet firmly. Hermione pushed her palms forward steadily and Draco felt pressure around him disappear and move away. He watched, as the book teetered, teasing them if it would fall or not. "A little harder…"

And with one sharp thrust, the book fell off the side of the table. "You did it," Draco said simply.

"I did do it, didn't I?" she said weakly, breathing. She coughed, holding her chest. She calmed herself and looked at him strangely before her eyes rolled upwards and she crumpled to the ground.

"Pathetic," he sighed, getting down next to her and shaking her awake. Eventually, he took her to the bathroom, placed her in the tub and turned the water on, icy droplets hailing down upon her unconscious form. She gasped for air and screeched from the coldness.

"WHAT DID YOU DO THAT FOR?" she bellowed, grabbing for a towel and trying to dry herself off. Water dripped down the sides of her face. She shivered, but glared vehemently at him.

"You feinted again," he said, bored. "This time because you're just exhausted and weak."

"I've been saying that for the past two and a half hours! Haven't you listened to a bloody word I've been saying?" she snapped, smacking him with the towel in frustration.

He ripped the towel out of her hands. "You at least moved the book. What were you thinking of?"

"What do you mean?" she asked innocently, yet still angry that he had doused her in cold water.

"You were getting angry about something," he said. "Your face was turning red."

"How do you know that wasn't because I was straining to move the air?"

"Because you weren't straining. You were getting angry. Your cheeks turned a deep red when you're angry. When you're angry, your whole face turns red."

"So you think you know me so well?"

"I don't know you. I've just observed this about you."

They fell into silence; Hermione speechless he noticed something so tiny about her, Draco appalled at himself _for_ noticing something so tiny about her. Draco watched her reflection; it was easier than looking at her real face.

"You need to get over him," he said bluntly, finally revealing what she had been thinking about.

"How would you know? You've never fallen in love with somebody," she snapped angrily, despising how he was right and yet she was unwilling to give up someone she had held dear for so long.

Draco fell silent. Hermione blushed, "I had no right to say that. I--"

"Forget it," he said coldly, walking out of the bathroom and throwing the towel to the ground. He walked to his desk, ripped off a page of parchment off his desk and hastily wrote a message on it.

_I'll be there._

Folding it, he died it around his own hawk, muttering, "Get this to Flint. No reply."

"Draco," a soft voice called at the doorway.

"Go away," he snapped. What did she know about him and his capability to love? He loved. He loved girls, he was there for them when they needed him, sometimes…He wanted to tear out his hair because he suddenly understood why it offended him so terribly when she had said that: it was true. He had never really truly fallen in love with somebody. There were girls he really liked, yes, but when the relationship ended, he didn't really shed tears over it. But did he really want a love like Hermione's that would just end in frustration and tears for days?

No bloody way.

"Draco, I'm sorry, I had no right to say what I had said," she said. She was behind him now. Her hand was resting gently on his shoulder.

"Don't expect any forgiveness from me," he snarled.

"I know you don't give any. Just…just understand that I was wrong and that I'm really sorry. I hope you'll forgive me sometime, maybe not now, but sometime. I know nothing about your life. I shouldn't have said that. I really am sorry, Draco."

Draco was silent for a few moments. That was the first heart filled apology he had really heard. Pansy usually just said she was sorry and then tried to kiss him, thinking that her body and actions where ways of earning forgiveness. She wasn't a slut, let's make the clear. She was a lost girl, and maybe later on in this tale, we'll explain why Pansy is the way she is, and why she loves Draco as much as she does. But let's get back to the point that had lead onto the discussion of Pansy: forgiveness. Even Blaise didn't apologize. He just gave Draco something, or did him a favor, never really saying those words and truly meaning it. I'm sorry: so simple, and yet so deep, the way she said it.

"Are you tired?" he asked. "Do you want to go out and do something fun?"

"What do you mean, 'something fun'?" she asked. A dark gleam made his gray eyes shine unnaturally that Hermione regretted ever uttering those six words.

:-:-:-:-:-:-:

The music was pulsing through the ground, the bodies, the drinks that rippled on the tables. It was an underground club, the entrance being at the back of a tea café. It was an around the clock business: tea by day, drinks by night. There were of course ID checks much like in the Muggle world, but those were scarce and the bouncers tended to let anyone in, anyone they thought was beautiful or pretty. Wands and other objects were confiscated at the entrance, placed in a protective ward where people couldn't steal or vandalize the items.

The club was two stories high, the bottom being an empty place that people had nicknamed The Pit where bodies could dance and teens could loose themselves into the music. Along the sides were bars. Staircases lead from floor to floor, each floor having a different theme. But the music was still the same: still pulsing, still energizing. Large pillars were place randomly amongst The Pit where people would get on top of and dance, breaking out their best moves.

Along the sides of the O'Brian's Pub/Club were rows of comfortable seats, stools, and tables. This was where Draco was sitting, in one of the armchairs, watching down below where The Pit captivated dancers into hiding all identities and taking on new ones that they had wanted to be for so long. He watched, looking for her. She had lost herself quickly into the music, taken away by a throng of people, and now was pressed up against a man neither she nor Draco knew.

All Draco was aware of was that he did not like that man sliding his hand down the side of her body slowly, nor did he like him holding her closely and burying his face in her hair. Maybe bringing her was a mistake. Pansy was different. Draco didn't really like to dance. O'Brian's was just a place where he could watch her dance and drink good shots late into the night. Pansy was a good dancer. She would dance with or without him. The club was a place where Pansy didn't follow Draco around, or Draco having to put up with her insufferable chatter. It worked both ways. He got his drinks; she got her music.

"Glad you could come," a raspy voice said near to his ear. Some of the seats were made in an S curve to allow to people to face each other slightly, and rest their backs against something soft. Draco was just pleased that this kept him from having to stare directly into Flint's face. It was a nice arrangement. Draco sipped his drink, trying not to grimace. "What is this about, Flint?"

"Can't two old friends talk? How's the Quidditch team going? Slytherin better be winning!" he remarked, sipping his own drink.

"We can't talk because we're not friends. Quidditch is like it's always been. And Slytherin is kicking ass in every direction," Draco said. "Get to the point."

"Fine. The Dark Lord is calling another meeting. You need to come."

"I just left to one in November. I can't go away so soon," Draco shot back harshly, lowering his voice, even though it was unnecessary, the music was too loud.

"This is important. It has to do something about elaborating your initiation," Flint said, emphasizing the importance be saying the end of the sentence slower.

"I thought I was through with that," Draco snarled.

"Through? No. You're never through. There's always another invisible step that you can never see," Flint said darkly, almost angrily.

"What news of raids?"

"We've been lying low since our last two raids have been failures. The Dark Lord smells a rat -- "

"I was wondering if he'd finally smell Pettigrew. Nasty, overgrown rodent, he is," Draco remarked. He heard Flint chuckle.

"No. Not him, unfortunately, although it seems Pettigrew is the only one that Voldemort doesn't suspect is a spy. "

"He's to scared to do anything. You've seen him. He quivers when either you or I talk to him. It's just shameful that our Master would allow rats like that to join into our brotherhood. We're supposed to be fearsome and awe-inspiring. Pettigrew doesn't fit the mold."

"Well, think of it this way, when the Dark Lord passes, and you take the thrown, you can destroy him any way you want."

"Maybe I'll turn him into the rat he is and feed him to Granger's cat…" Draco thought, chuckling evilly.

"Granger?" Flint echoed. "As in, Hermione _Mudblood_ Granger? What brought on the idea of her?"

"She's in my Head dormitories. She has this huge…I suppose you'd have to call it a cat for lack of a better word. It's a monster. Woke up one day, and the beast was sitting near my face, just _watching_ me with those yellow eyes of its. Scariest piece of shit ever."

Flint threw back his head and laughed. He paused, and they both stared down and looked at the ocean of people in The Pit. "Hey…isn't that the Mudblood in question?"

"Hm?" Draco asked, quickly scanning where she might have been. He had forgotten she was there. "Where?"

"Climbing the stairs. Damn, look at the legs on that girl! Who'd have thought…she's changed since I last saw her," Flint remarked. Draco looked at him, this time noticing the dark desire swelling in his eyes. "She looks like…fun. Look, here she comes."

And to Draco's horror, she was coming towards him. Her hair was damp from sweat, her shirt was soaked and her pants were tight. Her chest rose and fell deeply from dancing and the thick air that hovered over The Pitt, and Draco tried hard not to look at her chest as the shirt tightened and showed the outline of her underclothing.

"Hey Draco!" she called over the music, waving and still coming towards him. Draco glanced at Flint who was looking at him.

"First name basis?" Flint asked, interested.

Draco shrugged, "The mudblood must be drunk."

"Then this'll be even more exciting," Flint remarked, licking his lips. Draco felt a sense of revolution swarm him.

"Hey, Draco, you want to dance?" she asked, smiling.

"Why the bloody hell would I want to do that, Mudblood?" he snarled. Hermione blinked rapidly, as if not hearing him correctly.

_Listen, Flint doesn't know about us. Pretend your drunk. Don't make me have to explain this truce to him. He won't understand and he'll spread the word. You know how gossip goes._

Hermione cocked her head to the side and Draco wondered if she had heard him at all. She walked a little closer and sat on his lap, making him spill his drink. His eyes widened in absolutely shock. She leaned forward and whispered in his ear, "I won't tell."

"Now, Draco Malfoy, I believe I asked you to dance, and you shouldn't turn down a lady, even if she isn't a pure blood," she remarked, playing with his hair and breathing close to his face. Her finger ran down the middle of his nose and over his lips that hag gone bloodless by her actions. Her breath was intoxicating by the amount of drinks she had and Draco knew she wasn't entirely faking. "Get…off…me, Mudblood," he said through gritted teeth.

"Aw…so you're not going to play with me? Very well. You're loss. But if you _do_ change your mind, you'll know where to find me," she winked, and giggly walked away, catching herself a couple times with the help of a chair or a person. She somehow lost herself in The Pit again.

Flint gave a low whistle. "Wow…who would have thought she'd have it in her to be so seductive like that? I don't know how you couldn't resist banging her out of spite towards Potter and Weasley. I mean, she's drunk, and if she slept with you, that'd be two strikes tearing her perfect record to shreds."

"I don't take advantage of drunk girls," Draco stated, hatred burning in his stomach towards the man who sat a couple feet away from him.

"Well, if you're not going to go for her. Can I?" Flint asked, smirking smugly and getting to his feet. Draco stood to his feet and grabbed Flint's arm roughly. "Don't touch her, Flint. She could be useful later. And she's _mine_, got it? I get first dibs, you _know_ that."

Flint glared at Draco. "Fine, have her. I'll find something else. But if you do get tired of her, send her over to my place sometime."

And with that, Flint walked towards the exit and lost himself in the hundreds of people. Draco stood, fuming at the disgusting arrogance of Flint. He was appalled to think if he himself was anything like that. True, he believed in killing Muggles, but he still didn't find sleeping with a drunken girl right. He had his morals, however twisted it may sound. It was hard to explain.

Draco swirled his drink in his glass before draining it. Walking down the staircases and into The Pit, he slipped around people till he spotted her, held close to a dark haired man. Grabbing her, he pulled her away from the other man, sending him a death glare, and held her close to him. "You could have cost me my reputation back there," he snapped.

"Relax. I knew what I was doing," she said, giggly, and ran her finger across his jaw. "Do you dance?"

"I suppose."

"Then let's dance," she breathed into his face, her lips so close to his as she said it. And suddenly, Draco was pulled into another word, one he rarely experienced with Pansy. It was wild, passionate, energetic. All troubles, all thoughts, all ideas of having to portray someone were abandoned, and a new Draco entered The Pit. A Draco that didn't care if he was dancing with a Mudblood, holding her close, letting her touch him in return. He didn't care, just as long as it matched the beat that pulsed through their bodies and the bodies around them. It had been awhile since his heart raced, sweat rolling from his body like rain, feet moving in a blur.

But he didn't like her, even when he bought her the drink she thought she desperately needed. He didn't like her in that regard. He enjoyed her company because just like a new Draco took form into The Pit, so did a new Hermione.

:-:-:-:-:-:-:

Two teenagers staggered out of a tea café. Late night -- or early morning, whichever fits the occasion best -- observers shook their heads as the two drunk teens leaned against the other for support. But it seemed that the boy had more control over himself than the girl who couldn't make up her mind if she needed to hold onto him, or walk on her own.

"Wait," she said with a thick slur, "I forgot to send a Christmas present to one of my dearest…bestest…loyalest…friend of all times. Come on! I know exactly what to get him. Into this store. Merlin, you've got to love these 24-hour joints!"

"What are we getting?" the boy asked, his own speech a little slurred, but not as drastically as hers.

"You'll see…" she said, slightly singing it.

Five minuets later, the two teens were racing back to wherever they had come from, giggling over a box in a paper bag. And the observers just went back to watching the stars sprinkle the sky. O'Brain's tended to leave people feeling a little giddy.

:-:-:-:-:

"This is going to be the best Christmas present he'll ever get!" Hermione said, red faced and quickly running up to the owlery. Banging the door open, she scanned the rows of hundreds of owls. Hailing one down to her, which was difficult because the majority of them were flustered at the commotion that she had caused. "I need a scroll and quill…"

She rummaged the stash that was set aside near the desk. Grabbing a sheet and quill, she quickly jolted down what she wanted to say. Draco, although his vision was blurry, marveled at the fact how her handwriting was still straight and neat, even though she was drunk. _Very peculiar creatures…Mudbloods…_

Hermione let out a cry of victory as the owl took flight with her package and letter. "Fly my pretty! Fly! Fly!" she crackled. Draco looked at her oddly, and Hermione actually had the sense to stop.

She turned and smiled. "I'm not going to remember this. I've heard of cases like this, and I know I'm going to be one of them. This was my first night clubbing and drinking. I've never done anything crazy like this before. Ever. I've never gotten revenge --well, that's not true. With Rita Skeeter, that is, I suppose, is a situation that you would call revenge. But that evil woman deserved it! Putting all those nasty things about Krum and me and Harry. I've still got scars from those letters I received."

She blinked and looked up at him again. "You've got such pretty eyes. So pretty…"

She stepped closer to him, grazing her fingertips against his face, running them along his jaw, his lips, his pulse. "So…beautiful. And I'm going to kiss you…right…now…Draco Malfoy…"

Hermione slide her hand behind his head and pulled his head down ever so lightly. _She's going to kiss me…_Draco thought, trying to figure out if he cared or not. Her breath was hot, her hand was firm and her other hand was holding onto his waist.

But the kiss never came. When he opened his eyes to figure out what had happened, he found her passed out, resting against his chest, a small snore emitting from her mouth. Draco made a motion of a small kiss, before scooping her up in his arms and taking her back to her room.

"That's enough partying for one night…" he said to the sleeping girl in his arms. He couldn't help but laugh.

:-:-:-:-:-:-:

**A/N:** Well, chapter 10. I'm sorry this one took me practically two months to put up. Took me three days to write. A week waiting for my beta, only to find out that she has to stop – I'm not saying that I'm ungrateful! I'm incredibly grateful for you helping me along with these past few chapters. Give it up a huge round of applause for HPLeader! Woot-woot! But yes, I am betaless, and school this year is worse than anything I've imagined. I don't understand why people assign such ghastly amounts of homework for no apparent reason. To be honest, the only reason why this is up now is because I've been sick for the past week and have nothing else to do :mother steps into picture and points at the huge pile of homework stacked in the corner: Tehehe…well, nothing valuable to do…

So, please forgive me for a long delay and delays to come. Is this story still worth writing? Please comment, I really do desire your opinion ever so much. All you still faithful and still reading this story, I give you my biggest, heart filled thanks. I write this for you! Yeah, for you! No wait…don't go! It's an insult, to have this dedicated to you? I'm just making up invisible readers to read this? No! Don't let me leave my realm of happiness! Come back! Be real :sobs: BE REAL! Bahahaha :chibi-Pensive Puddles collapses against computer and weeps: I knew it was too good to be true.

Hey, lots of reviews will actual make this go faster because I've already got half of chapter 11 done. Yeah….head on down to the little purple button and write a little something. ;)


	11. Enough Pity to go Around

Cry Me Tears of Fire by Pensive Puddles 

Ron laid on his bed, trying to avoid chores for another five minutes. Technically, a half-hour ago his room was supposed to cleaned, but still the bed was unmade, clothes were in piles in the corners of the room, and books and comics were scattered haphazardly on the floor and on any open surface. Once upon a time, he had a rug, but he couldn't recall when he had last seen it. His mother had allowed Harry and him to sleep in the twins' bedroom for the time being, until the twins came to stay at the Burrow for the winter holidays.

The outgoing identical duo had been incredibly busy lately. Their joke shop had instantly become quite famous, rivaling Zonko's. Supposedly, Zonko's had offered them a deal, and the twin's were having a hard time in accepting. After all, Zonko's was their paradise, their inspiration…but then they wouldn't be _The Weasley's_; they would simply be a part of Zonko's.

He silently savored the tranquility. It was quite rare for silence to fill the Weasley Burrow. There had to be some sort of noise: his mother cooking and cleaning in the kitchen, the questionable, loud and disturbing sounds muffled behind the twins door, Ginny banging on the door, demanding to be let in; it was a zoo. Although with the absence of the comical twins, things were a lot quieter.

Bill and Charlie were coming home for Christmas. Percy wasn't coming of course; Percy hadn't stepped into the house since he had packed up and left two years before. But the family was making up for the lost seat at the table with Harry. Speaking of which, Ron wondered what Harry was doing, if Ginny was harassing him or if his father was pestering him on the many different Muggle instruments, their uses, and their names.

Ron rolled off his bright orange bed and stretched, his hands brushing the ceiling. He needed to move. Percy's old room was bigger, maybe he could switch. He'd personally move the git's stuff if he had too. A room was a room, no matter what was inside of it. Besides, it wasn't like Percy missed it, obviously. Ron shoved thoughts of Percy aside. He had grown distant from Percy. True, he was still his brother, and that was a bond that would never be broken. But it was harder to stay friends and loyal to a brother who cared more about his boss, and the thickness of cauldrons than his own family, and their well-being. _Well, that's not **completely** true_, he snorted sarcastically to himself; Percy did show Ron some sort of favoritism in writing him and telling him that he wanted Ron to follow in his, Percy's, footsteps, and to shun Harry. Ron still hadn't quite forgiven Percy for that nasty letter.

A sharp tapping pricked at his ears and he turned towards the sound, fixing his eyes on a brown school owl that tiredly but consistently pecked the window. Opening the small glass pane in his room, Ron untied the package from the owl's leg, before it hooted and flew off without another sound.

Thinking it was an early Christmas present--after all, it was already Christmas Eve--Ron eagerly opened the letter, seeing Hermione's familiar handwriting. A small pang of regret and guilt swept over him, as he remembered Lavender's kisses. He hadn't meant for it to go so far. He hadn't meant for it to happen in the first place! He _had_ been the one who stop it. Lavender was a pretty girl…oh hell! He was boy! Couldn't that give him _some_ justification?

Scanning the letter and with a quizzical brow, he opened the package. Blood draining from his face, Ron sprinted out of his room, howling, "HARRY!"

:-:-:-:-:-:-:

Harry rested on the couch, eyes dropping down to close. He could hear Mrs. Weasley cooking and talking to her cookbook that instructed her how to make the evening's meal. The rest of the house was still. Mr. Weasley was meeting Charlie and Bill, and Ginny had gone with them. The twins were still at work; they had lengthened their hours courteously for the last-minuet shoppers.

He wished Hermione were there at the moment. He missed her greatly. He never told a soul, but he did like Hermione, as in more than just a friend. It had probably started after fifth year, the summer before sixth year. Merlin, he had been so miserable; there hadn't been a day when he didn't think of Sirius falling behind the veil. She hadn't said anything, unlike everyone else who tried to comfort him verbally. She merely sat next to him and placed her hand over his, as if saying she was there for him.

He hadn't cried throughout Sirius's funeral. He hadn't cried at all since the last day of school. Many thought it was unhealthy. He thought so too, and he felt horrible because he _couldn't_ cry. The tears were gone. When the summer had started, it was as if all tears in him had evaporated. He felt guilty, unable to cry for his godfather, his friend. Then with Hermione's simply touch, the tears finally were unleashed from the hidden depths in his soul. She never said anything. She never commented on how Sirius was a good man or how he was in a better place. She merely held him, as he sobbed into her shirt.

He'd never tell Ron. Ron had been in love with her since third year. Well, he had had a crush on her at that point. And right before Harry was about to confess that he was feeling a certain, closer-than-friendship desire and feeling towards their best girl friend, Ron abruptly decided to declare he was officially in love with bookworm Hermione.

"How pitiful am I, Harry?" Ron had said feverishly, pacing. "I fell in love with her and I don't know how!"

Harry had wanted to say something, but his tongue was dry. He was crushed. On one side there was Hermione, his one chance of having her. On the other side was Ron, who – at least – claimed he loved her and would hate Harry if he fought the red head for Hermione. He was torn.

"I mean, she's a bookworm, and a know-it-all, and she's not incredibly pretty," Ron continued. Even while his blood boiled in incredible fury, Harry continued to sit in stony silence, as Ron kept rambling, "But she's…I don't know. She's…right? And I mean, she's just so…that…and _then_…you know?"

He had sounded like a complete idiot. Observing his lovesick visage, Harry knew he couldn't break Ron's heart and say he loved Hermione as well. He was quite aware Ron was upset with the scenario of Harry tending to get everything Ron wanted. And Harry decided to be humble. He would let Ron have her, even it killed him to watch them together. And so he gave a fake smile, congratulated him and agreed half heartedly, as Ron suddenly felt like asking her out on a date to the next Hogsmead weekend to confess his feelings.

"HARRY!" he heard Ron scream, his voice cracking at the 'RY'. He winced, appalled to suddenly find himself agreeing with Malfoy: when the hell would Ron's voice completely change?

"What?" Harry called, lying on the couch while watching Ron stumble down the stairs, tripping on the bottom step, yet somehow catching himself with his long legs. Merlin, the red head still seemed to be growing into his body.

"Come upstairs…_now_!" Ron whispered, before jolting back up the path he had stumbled down. Puzzled and slightly alarmed at how incredibly pale Ron was, and why he had the appearance of a deer caught in the headlights of an oncoming car, Harry quickly followed.

"What's the problem, Ron?" Harry asked, as Ron quickly closed the door, locked it and placed a silencing charm over it. His odd behavior only increased Harry's concern each passing second.

"Look on the bed," Ron whispered, avoiding the object in question and went to the window, opening it and letting the winter air chill his sweating brow. Harry turned and went over to the outrageously bright orange bed and looked at the thing that Ron was so petrified of.

An unfolded note, large letters scribbled in Hermione's perfect handwriting read:

_Just in case you can't control yourself_

_when Lavender comes around again._

_Happy Christmas and a Happy---_

Harry's jaw dropped as he read the word between 'Happy' and 'New Year'. Hermione, _their_ innocent Hermione writing such a word she had scolded Ron and Harry for using?

He looked at the package and his face paled as well, as he stared at a box of condoms. Harry looked between the box and the letter, and read an additional note he had overlooked:

_P.S. Multi-colored…so you can match it _

_with her outfit, since we all know that _

_Lavender loves to be color coordinated._

Harry looked up at Ron, who's expression was slightly green now. "RON! WHAT THE HELL DID YOU DO?" Harry bellowed, his own face reddening. The green monster that had plagued him for so long changed to red. Not only did Ron get the girl, he cheated on her with some ditz! It appalled Harry, and at that moment, he could only imagine his sweet Hermione heart broken with no shoulder to cry on.

"It's not my fault!" Ron responded just as loud, not in anger, but in despair.

"What's she talking about then? What happened between you and Lavender?" Harry questioned angrily. He looked away. She was alone in the castle without anyone, stuck with Malfoy. Harry wanted to bash his face in. He should have fought harder in saying goodbye to her. Maybe she was avoiding him on the platform. He should have punched Malfoy and searched for her and asked her if she was ok, and if she really wanted to stay at Hogwarts for Christmas. He should have been more of a friend, should have been her comforter. Now…she was alone.

Ron was silent for a good while. He merely looked in shock at the folded piece of paper crunched in Harry's hand. He swallowed and tried to speak but never said a word.

"_What_ is she talking about then?" Harry repeated, louder and fiercer this time.

Ron hung his head in shame. "It was during the raid, the day before we left. You had just left me in the Room of Requirement, and I was going to go back to our House, I bumped into Lavender. Turns out she was heading back there too, so we walked together. And then the alarm went off, and she just went…berserk. Reminded me of a banshee. I dragged her back to the Room of Requirement; we weren't near any of the other safe houses. We didn't hear anything, and after enough time had passed, we decided to try and sneak back. So we went…and she said she was scared, and kept saying all these nice things about me…and then she kissed me…"

"Did you kiss her back?" Harry interrogated sharply.

A brief pause, and then a quiet, "Yes."

Through gritted teeth, Harry started, "You asshole—"

"Don't you start, Harry! Since first year I've _always_ been at your side and constantly overlooked. Everyone praised you because of that stupid scar on your forehead. No one recalled the dangers I went through, all just because I didn't spend three weeks in the hospital wing at the end of the school year. And even this year, it happened. I'm always the ugly one when I stand next to you. I come back from Mungo's and suddenly all the girls are looking at me like they look at you and Malfoy. They look at me and they smile, and try and flirt with me. You don't know how great it feels, Harry, to feel like you're worth something. You don't know because you've always been treated like that, young people, old people, doesn't matter. You're always getting the attention, and just once, just _once_ I get a little bit of that attention too, and yeah, I mess up. But you don't have the right to get on my case about it. Don't you _dare_ patronize me about messing up and being an asshole. You're not as flawless as you think you are. At least I haven't gotten anyone _killed_ yet."

Harry's mouth went dry and Ron seemed to have gone green after what he had said. Ron stared at the floor and Harry glared at Ron, in disbelief if anything else. He was shocked that Ron, his best mate, had struck him where he _knew_ was a tender spot.

Harry walked towards the door and quickly unlocked it.

"Harry, I'm sorry!" Ron apologized, racing after his friend. He grabbed onto his arm. Harry turned around and seized Ron by his shirt, snarling, "Save it for someone who cares."

With a savage push, Harry flung Ron backwards, causing him to slam his back into the headboard of his bed. Ron muffled a cry of pain, which was stifled by the slamming of the door.

With tears of mortification from what he had said rolling down his face, Ron sat painfully on his bed. He didn't know what to do. Harry would forgive him in the end, wouldn't he? A small fear of doubt filled him. Ron was never good at apologizing. He felt sick at what he had said; he had no right to say such cruel words. Covering his face in shame, Ron thought what he should do, could do. His eyes rested on the crumbled letter lying on the floor. He had ruined one of his friendships; maybe he could save the other. And so, he grabbed a quill and a piece of parchment and began to write to Hermione.

:-:-:-:-:--:-:-:

Harry had never felt so livid before. He tried to control himself as he stomped down the steps. He didn't want to alarm Mrs. Weasley, nor drag her into the situation at hand. Despite his poor efforts in quieting his footsteps, Mrs. Weasley came towards him, asking, "Is everything all right, Harry, dear?"

"It's fine, don't worry. I'm just going to go for a walk," Harry said calmly and brushed by Mrs. Weasley, who looked at him perplexedly.

"Don't forget your coat, dear!" she called. Unfortunately, her reminder fell on deaf ears, and as he closed the door behind him, Mrs. Weasley didn't bother to chase after him. Her motherly instinct told her that he and Ron had gotten into a little row, and it was something that even she couldn't interpose. Sighing, she returned to preparing the Christmas Eve meal.

Harry, on the other hand, was walking in piles of snow mid calf high, wind blowing in his face. The icy blasts felt calming against his flaming skin.

How could Ron say those things? Harry had to put up with Ron's ridiculous behavior in fourth year when he had accused him of placing his name in the Goblet of Fire. Harry could live with those accusations. This time…this time Ron had gone too far. He could never forgiven him because Ron's barb wasn't one that slipped out accidentally. He had said it on purpose. How dare he accuse him of Sirius' death!

_Why are you getting angry about it? You **know** it's true. It **is** your fault…_

Go away…leave me alone… 

_I'm always here, and I'll never leave you alone. You know that. I'm the voice inside you that keeps you from denying the truth. You know Ron's right._

_But for him to say it to my face?_

Tears of anger coursed down his cheeks even when Harry tried hard not to cry. He wasn't crying over Ron. He was crying over Sirius. His shoes tangled with the thick snow and he stumbled to the padded ground. He stayed there, not bothering to get up. His body shook in painful sobs as he remembered his godfather. If only had had studied harder, if only he hadn't trusted that wretched house elf! Harry was going to have that elf killed.

Harry hadn't touched the mirror Sirius had given him. He had collected the pieces, put it in a bag and placed it in the loose floorboard in the Dursely's house. There it hid; there it would stay. He wished that had been the end of it. But the mortal toil that scorched and slashed at his heart and soul seemed incapable of ending. It still raged on inside of him.

After a few long moments of staring up at the stormy dark sky, Harry finally got up and made his way back to the Burrow. The windows were blurs of lights. He hadn't realized how far he had walked. He continued on, now feeling the coldness of the wind seep through him. He wiped his face, trying to keep his tears from freezing to his bare skin, hoping that no one would see his anguish. Step after step his heart became heavier until finally he reached the door of the Weasley household. He didn't know if he was ready to go in. His body screamed for the warmth that tempted him to bask himself in it. The cold tried to convince him into staying outside forever and freeze the pain that boiled inside him. He didn't know how long he stood there.

"Harry!" a voice cried out in excitement, as a huge bulk of black plowed him over into the snow. "No need to come out and freeze your arse off for us!"

"Although, it is rather touching…such devotion," George remarked, wiping away an invisible tear, before jumping on top of Fred, who was still hugging Harry in the snow, and thus further crushed Harry and made him wet and colder still. They laughed as Harry let out a sharp groan of pain.

"Boys! Let's get inside. My clock says it's dinner time already," Mr. Wealsey said, hands buried deeply in his thin jacket. Harry brushed himself off and tried to smile. He was surprised how easily it fitted to his face and a pang of guilt stabbed at him. How could he smile when he felt so…horribly inside?

The twins threw open the door, yelling at the top of their lungs Christmas greetings. Bill and Charlie followed, overcome with hugs from their mother, who tried to swallow them both up in her arms. Mr. Weasley quickly entered into the safe haven of warmth, leaving Harry to stare into the brightness. A soft hand grabbed onto his arm and lightly tugged him towards the house. "Come on, Harry," Ginny said, "You'll freeze to death in those wet clothes."

Harry only nodded and reluctantly walked in. Maybe he could surround himself with the twins, Bill, Charlie, and Ginny all night, avoiding Ron as long as possible. Seeing the person in question standing on the staircase, gazing sadly down at him weakened all hopes of such thoughts.

:-:-:-:-:-:-:-:

Draco waved his hand at the fire that burned in the hearth. It gave a muted cough, spluttering flames. A blast of heat brushed over Draco's face and he basked in the warmth. Ever since he had obtained his Element, he noticed he constantly craved the sun's warm touch or anything hot. He was growing to despise England's weather, cursed with dreary rainy seasons and cloudy skies. It frustrated him because he really did enjoy the dark clouds and wild storms; and now, all that brought him joy was the idea of lounging on a beach with the tropical sun beating upon his brow. He gloomily pulled his jacket closer to him, savoring the soft material against his bare skin.

But even when the weather outside was quite horrid (it still hadn't snowed) with the harsh winds blowing the bare skeletons of the trees, ashes of leaves fluttering in the wind, skies overcastted with thick, gray clouds that held the snow captive, refusing to give up one flake, Draco waited patiently for the one thing that he was going to find most amusing all day…

A nasty groan grated against his ears. Oh! how he savored it. His ears carefully listened to the sounds of his roommate in her room. He heard heavy feet fall roughly to the floor and tread towards the bathroom. Some more horrible groans and moans, and then the grand finale…

The echoes of her spews vibrated the bathroom walls and Draco threw back his head and laughed. Oh, this was priceless. Perfect Hermione Granger hung over; he _had_ to see this.

Eager to see someone in pain, he rolled off the couch and went towards the bathroom, flinging open the door and allowing it to slam into the wall. He watched sadistically, as Hermione grabbed her head in agony and winced. The side of her head rested against the toilet seat, saliva glistening around the corners of her parted lips.

"Most people don't approve of drinking out of toilet bowls, Hermione," Draco said, coming towards her, smirking down at her poor, sick form.

Hermione looked up at him, eyes bloodshot. She licked her lips and was about to speak, but instead, she leaned down and spewed again. Draco, as much as he enjoyed watching Hermione in turmoil, detested the sight of vomiting. He found the idea ironic: he enjoyed the behavior of a hung over person, yet he detested the sight of it. His stomach turned uneasily, and the stench of her vomit overpowered him. She coughed, gasping for breath, and wiped away her tears.

Draco walked out of the bathroom. All thrills he had once savored in watching the episode of Hermione's hangover were over. There was something…_wrong_…in seeing her body lean over the porcelain bowl and heave into it, tears rolling down her face because she couldn't stop and because of her pounding head that she clutched passionately. He could imagine her now, pressing her face against the icy cold porcelain, trying to cool her feverish brow. He knew she was because he experienced it one to many times. But Draco was good at holding his liquor, and he also hadn't drunk as much as his copartner who was now spewing her guts into the toilet.

A twang of…pity, overwhelmed him, so strongly that it made him sit on the couch, cross his arms, and have an argument with himself. Should he satisfy the urge to crush this pity feeling inside of him by helping ease her pain? Or should he go on a long walk and wait till she was over her hangover? Some people would have thought that such thoughts going through Draco's head were completely against his personality. And in a way, it is true. But you see, the Draco that the majority of the people thought they knew was changing, not only unbeknown to their eyes, but also to Draco's. Unlike the observers, however, Draco had no idea where this side of him had come from. He had never had a shoulder angel; at least, he always killed the little bugger before it could speak. And at times he wouldn't be surprised if he had two shoulder devils. Now, the little angel was tugging more to its own side, even when Draco desperately wanted the little red devil to win the tug-of-war game that occurred in indecisive situations such as this. He clutched his face. _Why_ did he have to argue with himself?

:-:-:-:-:-:-:

Hermione rested against the toilet, her cooler, her savior. She patted the toilet bowl, "You're the only one who knows what I feel like inside…well, at least _now_ you do." She closed her eyes and pressed her hand against her forehead. What was wrong? She couldn't remember anything. Did she eat something bad yesterday? Her thoughts were completely disoriented, and she felt incredibly confused and disgusting.

The door opened again, this time quieter. She couldn't believe the audacity of Malfoy. Here she thought they were making progress on their "friendship" (which really, if analyzed correctly, was just a simple truce), and Malfoy returned to his old ways of making fun of her, kicking her when she was down.

Merlin, why was this happening to her? She wished she were at the Burrow, sitting with her friends and having a good time and feeling good. She wished she were snuggling with Ron…what if he was snuggling with Lavender instead? She clutched her head and started to cry. Why did she have to cry over something so silly? He was just a guy. Her purpose and life didn't rest solely on the red head; otherwise life had no real meaning. This winter break was a time to finally get over him and to confront him on the first day back and break it off. She knew it was going to be awkward at first, and she'd let Ron try and explain himself. But she had seen what he had done and what he hadn't done, and some things just weren't forgivable. Once a cheater, always a cheater. Ron took something precious of hers, ripped it and destroyed it, and threw it back in her face. Not her virginity, thankfully. She was one of those girls who favored the idea of waiting till marriage to have sex. Her parents had raised her with the idea that sex was supposed to be a special thing between two people.

And she agreed with them, not because she was taught that idea, but because she believed it logical as well. If sex was supposed to be a special thing between two people, then what was the point of sleeping with every boyfriend you go through? She had seen multiple cases where a girl finally gave her heart, body, soul, and virginity to a man and watch sadly as the girl weep bitterly a few days later, as he ignored her after their love making. Girls tend to give their hearts more freely, more willingly than males. Therefore, Hermione wanted to wait for The One, and that was the one who would make the commitment, place the wedding band on her finger, swear to her that he would love her forever and never leave her side. That was whom she'd give it to.

And so, she was thankful that she didn't go as far as some of her friends. Especially when she now looked at what had happened. So why was she so upset? She gave Ron a good part of her heart, the sweetest center, and he had destroyed it. She had given him her loyalty, her faithfulness, her trust, and he had done the complete opposite of all the gifts she had given him. But the main reason why she was so upset with the whole ordeal was partly about loosing her boyfriend to a prettier girl, but mostly because it raised the old age question: what was wrong with _her_ that made him go to another, prettier girl?

His new face. It was the same Ron inside; she knew he had to be there. She knew he had a new face, but she fell in love with the old Ron, her Ron, the one with the multiple freckles and large nose and small eyes. But Ron was handsome now. He caught the eyes of a lot of pretty girls, girls that Hermione didn't fear before because she knew that they had no desire in becoming Ron's girlfriend. Now, however, that situation had changed. Was it because she was ugly next to his side that made him search for a prettier companion? She knew she wasn't the best thing on the market; she was aware that her frizzy and wild hair was the butt of all the jokes.

In simple terms of the idea of what Hermione had deduced from all speculations of her now ex-boyfriend: Ron needed someone pretty to be by his new, pretty face. And that pretty face was not Hermione's.

Hot tears trickled down her face and landed on her chest. They were little hot licks of pain that scorched her skin, not because of the heat, but because of the bitterness, depression, and anguish that each tear was made of. She didn't care if Malfoy was in the bathroom. She didn't care if he made another joke about her lowly heritage. She was sick and tired of it all, and she just want to sleep and make the pounding in her heat cease, and the misery in her heart die.

"Here," a low voice said, automatically raising Hermione's eyes to what was being held out to her. She skeptically looked at the blue liquid in the glass. Draco added, "It'll kill your hangover."

_Hangover…?_ she repeated silently in her mind. Why was she hung over? The pounding increased. Hangover or not, she took the drink (or poison) and gulped it down, coughing at the horrid taste. The glass was again pressed up against her lips, this time harshly, and the thick, nasty potion forcibly slide down her resisting throat. "You need to finish it all," he said in the same low voice. Hermione tried to squirm away from it. The taste was incredibly repulsive. But finally, as the glass was lifted off her lips, she coughed and vaguely noticed that her headache was gone. Her eyes blurred and she felt strong arms pull her to her feet. "You'll be passing out soon."

Whether in a dream or not, Hermione felt her feet lift off the ground and she rose into the familiar darkness of unconsciousness.

:-:-:-:-:-:-:-:

Draco placed her on her disheveled bed. Her hands reached up for one of the spare pillows on her bed and cuddled is against her chest. Rolling up in a little ball, Hermione's face relaxed and Draco watched as her chest rose and fell consistently, signifying a person in deep sleep. He gently pulled the covers over her frail frame, up to her chin. He watched as his fingers reached downwards to brush her hair, but he grabbed hold of them and forced them to retreat. To busy his fingers, he closed the curtains to keep the sun from waking her.

Before he closed the door, he stood and watched her. What made him commit an act of kindness? Dreamers would love to believe that he had suddenly, out of the blue, discovered that he loved her. But Dreamers tend to be disappointed, just like they are now. If anything (for it is hard to understand the mind of Draco), it is possibly and most likely that the reason why Draco treated her with such tender care was because of Pansy and how he treated her.

Draco didn't love Pansy, or at least, all feelings of these sorts had faded into friendship ones. But even that type of "friendship love" was pushing it. If we take a brief review over the mindset and personality of Draco – which we might have forgotten with new and exciting events that have happened – we may come to a some-what complete conclusion. Draco was cold, evil, sadistic, and manipulative. He had allies, and no friends (except Blaise). Pansy was just his…girl. There really was no other word he could give her. He hated his family. He hated being belittled and overshadowed by Potter.

Draco knew that about himself. He knew he was prideful, intelligent, handsome, a pompous ass, and alone. But there was one thing that Draco couldn't understand about himself: his thoughts and feelings towards Hermione Granger. This is probably something that we've forgotten, and it might be necessary now to review what has happened these last few days. It's easy to get facts and thoughts confused in this tale. But Draco had, unrecognizable to his own eyes, a deep fascination with Hermione Granger. Unfortunately, it is hard to tell what his true feelings are seeing that Draco is a very complex person to unpeel. But, the one thing that is evident, if one studies the behavior of Draco throughout this ordeal, that he had become quite attached to the little fuzz ball in the sense that she was, to his pale eyes, a unique girl with intriguing thinking, not to mention the gift of dark art swirling in her muddy veins. True, he was jealous (for lack of a better word) that she was able to possess the gift of controlling an Element, and he repeatedly wondered how, just by a simple chant, she was able to obtain that power, while he had to endure a scarring night of humiliation and torture.

And as he watched her sleepy form shudder and pull the covers closer to her chin, he found himself almost grinning at seeing her childish face. But upon catching himself, his forced his lips down into a frown. As he slowly closed the door, he contemplated why, again, did he help her. As he recalled her frail form hunched painfully over the toilet, coughing and spewing, he remembered Pansy being in the exact same position multiple times before. But Pansy was different. She was the type of girl who was allowed to get drunk and have horribly hangovers the next morning. She was the party, wild girl that all men loved and adored and favored. She was the type of girl who was fun to get drunk with, never really knowing where you'd end up the next morning. Draco enjoyed her presence sometimes. And sometimes, he felt like a friend when he had to carry her unconscious body to Blaise's room (recall for a moment that steps leading towards the girls dormitories collapse into a slippery slope when male feet touch against the cool surface, and Draco would never allow the threat of loosing his Head's badge over her drunkenness). Blaise, being the gentlemen that he was, kindly let her sleep in his bed, and slept on the floor.

But Granger wasn't like Pansy. Her personality didn't allow her to get drunk and dance and have heavy hangovers. She was the unique girl who wasn't like the other girls, the unordinary girl that transfixed him with her oddity. And maybe, just maybe, deep down he felt a little guilty for her condition because he had been the one to cause it.

Last night's episode with Hermione in the bar and Flint's crude words came to Draco's mind and anger surged through him, at himself, at Hermione, at Flint. He could still see Flint's lusty gaze, as he stared at innocent Hermione, half drunk. Draco knew that if he hadn't been there, Hermione might have been waking up in musty hotel room with Flint's arm wrapped around her waist.

Draco felt disgusted with himself. And then he felt angry for being disgusted with himself. And then, to make emotions even more confusing, he felt ashamed for feeling angry for being disgusted with himself. The heart and mind and feelings of Draco Malfoy were one of the most complex things unknown to anyone in the castle. The blond haired boy massaged his temples and rested on the couch, his eyes still on her door. He could image her lying on her bed, at that very moment, content. He sighed.

:-:-:-:-:-:-:-:

Pale gray eyes opened to see Hermione coming out of the bathroom with the flushing toilet echoing in the tiled room. Draco watched as her sleepy figure waddled over to him and sat in one of the adjacent chairs. She ran her fingers through her wild hair, and Draco watched, fascinated.

"What happened?" she asked, her voice raspy. She coughed and shook her head, trying to wake herself up.

"What?" he responded, not entirely sure what she was talking about.

"This morning…you gave me something…said something about a hangover?" she asked, looking at him for answers.

Draco didn't want to reply. He curled on the couch with his back towards her, mumbling that he didn't know, and that he was tired, so she should just piss off and let him sleep. He smirked, as he heard her mumble something that sounded like 'asshole'.

An aggravating pecking tapped against the window, and yawning, Hermione went over towards the sound, and Draco heard the window squeak open, followed by a soft coo of an owl. Still feigning sleep -- although he was tired -- the Slytherin listened keenly as he heard the girl open the letter and quietly dictate the letter. Her words were slurred like one who reads something quietly and fast and only for one's own personal benefit. Random little words were accented clearly, but soon were overlapped with slurred phrases and incomprehensible murmurs.

Draco was about to fall into slumber when a pillow whacked him quite roughly on the head. "What the hell?" Draco exclaimed, rubbing his bruised head and glaring at the culprit.

Standing with her arms crossed over her chest, foot tapping, and hair disheveled, she was a frightening sight. But the stripped pajamas she wore took out all ferocity she could have emitted.

"What happened last night?" she demanded loudly.

"Go ask the toilet bowl," he snapped, snuggling back into his warm, comfortable position. Hermione, infuriated, started pounding him on the head with the pillow again, watching happily, as he attempted to protect his head with his arms, and yelled again, "What happened last night?"

"Stop hitting me, damn it!" he said, grabbing the pillow and throwing it at her. "What exactly are you talking about?"

"_This_," she snapped, throwing a piece of parchment at him. Catching the rolled up letter, Draco opened it and quickly scanned it, muttering some of it out loud, "Dear Hermione…what's wrong…what's with the box of condoms – so _that's_ what we got last night! Merlin, that part of last night is a little fuzzy in my mind."

"What do you mean 'last night'?" she asked coldly.

"After the bar—"

"THE WHAT?" she shrieked, causing Draco to wince.

"O'Brain's. Had a few drinks, danced a little — by the way, thank's for the lap dance," Draco added. Hermione, now slowly recalling the night's events, paled drastically and sank weakly into the chair, staring appalled at him. _Drinks?_ _Yes…I remember. Dancing…heck yes I remember that…he smelled good,_ she thought and then mentally kicked herself for the last comment. _Lap dance…?_ she paused. _Holy…shit…_

Draco watched, as she covered her face, and he smiled. He couldn't help but add, "Flint thought you were pretty sexy, too. Wanted one himself, but you decided to run off after you were done with me."

"Shut up!" she yelled, humiliated and then as an after thought, said, "What do you mean, 'Flint'? What was he doing there?"

"O'Brain's a pretty popular club. All the young wizards go there," he lied. Well, it wasn't exactly a lie. O'Brain's was a popular place.

She groaned and covered her face again. "Why were we there?"

"Are you seriously telling me you don't remember any of this?" Draco asked, genuinely amused. She gave a weak nod.

"We went to O'Brain's for a break. Got drunk. Bought the condoms. Went to the owlery. Sent off your package to Weasley. And then you passed out," Draco said.

"That's it?" she asked.

"Do you have something in mind that you want to finish now?" he replied, raising a pale eyebrow. She glared at him, muttering, "Sex, sex, sex, that's all you ever think about."

Draco looked back down at the letter and finished skimming it. It was hard to read what the Weasel wrote, but through his chicken scratch, Draco could comprehend that he was confessing about his little 'accident' with Lavender, and how he still loved Hermione, and that he was really sorry, and all the sappy things that boys said after they had just screwed up a relationship.

Draco stared at the letter. He could tell, even when he tried hard not to, that Weasley was quite sincere when he said that he was sorry for what he had done. He could already image Hermione smiling at the idea of getting back together with the freak, could image him holding her with his slimy hands and touching her, and could imagine her reverting back to her doll-like stage, always touched, but never touching. He glanced at her, examining her huddled body cramped in the chair. And the idea of the red headed boy taking hold of her again…this part is obvious, and since there is no way to really allude to it without sounding incredibly ridiculous, it'll have to be spoken straight out: Draco was upset with the idea of Hermione becoming out of his reach again. He was agitated that filthy, poor hands would take his possession. Whatever Draco wanted, he kept, even if he didn't want it anymore. Hermione was something he wanted. And Draco seethed at the idea of galleonless Weasley stealing her away from him.

"Are you going to forgive him and go back to his side?" Draco asked coldly. Anger ate at him, slowly consuming him. He couldn't understand why the idea of Hermione returning to Weasley was so infuriating. Maybe he was jealous of the idea of her being by the freak's side again. Draco shook his head: no…that couldn't be it…could it?

"I don't know," was her quiet reply a few moments later.

"It's a simple question: either you go back to him or you don't," _and stay with me_, Draco was about to add. The blond, now completely shocked and afraid of his betraying thoughts, quickly got up from the couch and walked towards his room. Throwing on his Quidditch practice clothes, he grabbed his broom and walked towards the exit.

He had to get out. He had to escape her presence before he completely lost control of himself. It suddenly became clear to him: he was treating her almost like he treated Blaise and Pansy: friendly like. And he couldn't understand why. True, the two of them were bound by an invisible truce, but did it mean that he was supposed to treat her so…nicely? And then the mortifying idea flooded his head: he _liked_ treating her nicely.

He had to leave. Now.

"Where are you going? Why are you so mad?" she asked, following him, incredibly flustered with his attitude.

"None of your damn business," Draco snapped. _Get to the door, get to the door…_he chanted in his head.

"Draco, talked to me," she said, grabbing onto his arm. He looked back at her, and wished he hadn't. Her brown eyes glowed by the firelight's blaze, and confusion swarmed underneath the reflected fire. "What did I say?"

The Slytherin swallowed, trying to pull his eyes away from her brown ones, but found the process harder than the thought. Her hand burned through his clothes, her slim figure never appeared more seducing to the touch. He wanted to catch her off guard and kiss her, just to see her reaction, just to see her confusion increase, just to feel her lips against his, just to finally have a real idea of what they felt like instead of the thought of what they should feel like. He watched as her red lips moved, repeating the question. His heart pounded in his head.

He had to get away before he lost control.

Yanking his arm roughly out of her grasp, he marched towards the door and slammed it shut. He needed to feel the winter air against his face, needed the weight of gravity pulling at his feet, needed the exhilaration of diving. And maybe, with the power of the icy wind and the heart stopping dives combined, his heart would cease pounding so ferociously inside of his chest. But as he mounted his broom and took off into the gray sky, he could only see her skin warmed by the fire and her lips beckoning to be touched.

And then his mind was swarmed with the little witch who was still standing dumbfounded in the Head's Common Room.

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**A/N:** I rewrote this chapter about three times, which was why it's taken a little while to get up here. Plus, homework's not lightening up either. TT I'm about ready to drop dead and die. But before I let you go and surf the rest of the fanfics out there, I want to thank you ever so much for choosing to take time out of your search and reading mine.

_Special shoutouts to:_

**Ninacrazyfanficker801**:blushes: Aww…you're too kind. I'm happy that you like what I write and I'm really pleased that you like this story as well. Your review was awesome to read because I don't get long ones like those very often, and it's always a pleasure to read people who analyze the story. Thank you!

**SuperSammie325**: Thanks for finding my story now! And I'm glad you'll stick through this thing to the end! I do hate losing people, but then again, that happens to me because I forget what the title is! Whoops. Either way, I'm quite glad that you like it so much.

**Ignorencecreekstruth**: I know its frustrating…I tend to frustrate a lot of people with my writing, in the sense that it never goes the way they think it's going to go. What'd did you think of Ron's reaction? Was it what you expected?

**Sakuraangel90: **Yeah:sigh: I've finally excepted that I'm naturally mean in my writing. Hahaha.

**Dantesguide**: Your review made me laugh :pictures you dancing in your chair and receiving odd glares: Hopefully, you didn't have to do it again and receive another series of odd glares from your editor this time.

**KuroiTenshi – Dark Angel**: I'm not sure how long this story is going to be. I suppose it's when I just can't stand writing it any longer No, but really, I think it'll end in the early 20s, at least, that's my goal. It's my first long chapter story so I can't really say.

**Monday Mornings**: I really do love honest reviews like yours. And I'm glad you won't stop reading. The problem with me is that I go through random mood swings and what I feel like tends to effect what I write. But I hope that this chapter somehow redeemed my last…:bites lip: maybe not…I hope you'll stick with this story anyways.

**Bips**: You read the whole thing again? Wow! You have no idea how smashing that makes me feel to hear that this is a thing you could read twice! Thank you!

**And also to:** Tris riddle, perfectcircle, IheartDraco&Hermione, redjegger, Firefox Sunset – Formerly CinderBrat, poopywnsyou, FeLiCiTy RoXx, Princess Squishy, seaweedqueen, good ride cowboy, rina, dracosbabigirl, CareBearErin, misty, cellosrock753, Pidwidgeon188, Lucifer's Garden, orliNkeria, Ellie, Jay Jay, Serenity Komoshiro, prettigurl7,


	12. Anger Problems

**A/N:** Yes, usually I put this at the bottom…but…change is a good thing. Either way, I do have to say that I find it quite entertaining that I started this story about a year ago, and now, it's Christmas time again…and their finishing up Christmas in this story. F-I-N-A-L-L-Y! And now for some shout outs, which you guys completely deserve because you guys are awesome in reviewing for me:

Babmidnight, crzyflgrl, marajade64, SweetMary, DeathsBride08, firefairy91, dandh, poopwnsyou, LivingImapred, Diamond-Wind, pink-strawberries, Secret Thought, TwilightGirl, love-puddle, Jackie, cellosrock753, jesstergrl, Ellie, Dookie, kat, ignorencecreekstruth, Monday Mornings, LILHOUSELF, Aleja21, JUJI, The Lady of the Four Leafed Clover, Bumblebeegonecrazy, mrs skywalker, SuperSammie325, MiSs JoVaNNa, Firefox Sunset – Formerly Cinderbrat, Serenity Komoshiro, Prettyinpink09,

CareBearErin: I have to say, that I LOVE how you analyze in your review. It's so fun to hear what readers pick up when th read stories, because sometimes when you try and get a point across, the reader tends to read something totally different, and your review was what I was going for. So major peaches to you. I just wanted to let you know…your review was quiet entertaining to read.

Nini3838fanficker: Wow…five times? O.o I didn't know my story was worth reading that many times! But I'm seriously grateful and totally stunned. You're really amazing. And yeah…I have a #1 fan! Hehehe.

Snorlax1084: That you so much. I really do appreciate it when fans enjoy the fact that I'm not jumping into fluff and sex plots between the two characters. Draco and Hermione are a very delicate ship, and hard to pull off when written realistically. And let me know if you detect the loose of passion in my writing because this is my first mutichapter fic and I don't know if my writing is meant for that style. ;)

RebelSheepSayMoo: Don't worry. I have an idea where Harry and Hermione will go. But this is a fic that's randomly thought up on as my fingers type away. Thanks for reading. I love your input on my chapters. It's encouraging to have someone find problems or give advice on situations and writing style.

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Cry Me Tears of Fire

Pensive Puddles

:-:-:-:-:-:-:-:-:-:

That was close. _Too_ close. He had almost kissed her. And Salazar forbid, he still _wanted_ to kiss her. Her lips were still moving in his head. He could still see her face, alive with the flickering shadows the fire blew with warm breaths. Merlin, if Hermione hadn't been Hermione at that moment, he would have kissed her, taken her, loved her. But he couldn't. Just because Hermione wasn't the type of girl he could just kiss, just take, just love. It was forbidden in so many ways: against his Voldemort, against his family, against _himself_. To allow himself to be with Hermione Granger was such a sin, and it wasn't a tasteful sin either. It was sickening, more because he wanted it, and knew he could never have it.

Draco had to end this…this "truce" with Hermione. He couldn't take it any longer. Not because it was unbearable (he wished it was), but because it was making him treat her…differently, affectionately. It was warping his cold, heartless attitude towards her into an attitude he reserved for friends. Of course, that last moment where he had almost lost himself in the Common Room still left him breathing unevenly. What was _wrong_ with him! Yet even if these puzzling feelings were forgotten, Draco Malfoy could never allow himself to befriend Hermione Granger. This was just a truce. It was supposed to last only for the winter break, and then it was back to the bitter friction between them, the familiar way of life.

But in the darkest corners of his locked away secrets, Draco didn't want to return to the familiar bitterness, the familiar hatred. He enjoyed her company. He enjoyed her presence. He enjoyed how now, any displays of bitterness were more teasing than anything else. And he wasn't sure if he was ready to just…let it go.

Some would say that Draco was being completely sentimental, completely un-Malfoyish, and completely senile. And he was. Draco was all those things. He was becoming more sentimental, more un-Malfoyish, and more senile than any other time in his life. And he needed to change. He needed to revert back to his old ways and stay the cold-hearted prick that he was. He couldn't…_couldn't_ stay like this.

He had finally made up his mind.

Draco sighed and looked around the Quidditch pitch. It was such a wonderful spot to sort out his thoughts. The cold winter air blew against his face, making his pale skin flush against the bitter iciness. He could see dazzling sights in the morning, and even in the evenings when he was out here. He would fly up and watch the sun rise or fall, watch it touch the mountainsides and accent the dark colored boulders. She probably would have liked to see it…too bad she was scared of heights…

_Damn it, stop!_ he yelled in his mind. He held his face in his hands trying to ease his frustrations, some how hold onto his escaping thoughts that became a whirlwind of utter excitement. This was why he needed to stop this truce with her. She was entering more and more into his thoughts. It was bad enough before, and now…now it was just terrible. He had hoped that in having this truce with her, he would understand her behavior and find flaws in it and find something detestable, something to hate her for, something that would take all fascination away and reveal that she was just like every other girl.

But there wasn't and she wasn't. And that was what angered Draco the most.

"Draco!" he heard a faint, soft chime in the air and he looked around for that sound. His eyes fell to the ground and he looked at the devil of his thoughts, _her_. He breathed deeply. This was where he would start changing. This was where he would break the truce. It was the only way for him to go back to the way he was and crush this curiosity and fascination of his.

But the inner child who loves to show off, the child we all have inside us, couldn't help but give one last, astounding show to his fake friend. It was a move that he had practiced only at home when his parents would argue, or when his father was away and his mother was entertaining her…special guests. It was daring, it was stupid, it was just a guy thing to do, and like most guys, he couldn't help but show off to a girl, even if it was a mudblood girl.

Standing on his broom that hovered in the air, balancing himself, Draco braced himself and made sure that his wand was tucked safely in his pocket. And then he leapt out into open space, falling to the ground at such a wild pace that he couldn't help but laugh and shriek like a mad man, drowning out the sounds of her screaming.

"_Accio_ Lightening Bolt 3000!" he cried and the broom that hovered a hundred feet above him lurched towards its master. Draco noticed that the ground was closer than it normally was when he practiced it at the Manor, and he could see her covering her face in fear of seeing his body shatter against the cold ground. Smirking, Draco twisted himself upright and landed on his broom that placed itself beneath his feet. It slowed gradually till he hovered a foot or two below Hermione's head.

She looked up at him, blood drained from her face, yet a look of disbelief and awe shinning her eyes. He wished that he could smirk at her, wink at her and strut off back to the castle. He wished he hadn't called off the truce with her in his head, and then he'd have the freedom to stay at her side and feel her light hits against his chest, hear her fierce scolding, just be there with her in general. But the truce was over, and Draco was doing what the old Draco Malfoy would have done: he scowled, told her to sod off, and walked away.

He could feel her shock in the air around her, but he ignored it while he strode back to the castle, looking arrogant, being the pompous ass that he once was, and yet felt like the biggest piece of scum to walk the planet.

:-:-:-:-:-:-:

Draco didn't speak to her for the rest of the day. She tried to catch his eye at dinner, but found that he would purposefully sit himself next to Snape, and Hermione would never sit near Snape even if it could free all the House elves from slavery. The students who stayed at Hogwarts were few and so both the teachers and the students sat at the same table for meals. It offered a more homely touch. Hermione attempted to entertain a Ravenclaw boy a year younger than her who kept asking her questions, wanting to start a conversation, and she had to admit she was having a fun time discussing things with him that she never could discussed with Ron and Harry because they found it incredibly dull.

While in the midst of laughing with her new friend, she instinctively looked over at Draco and was surprised to actually meet his eyes. They were cold and sharp, startling her, but she stared back nonetheless. The familiar look of loathing and hatred shook her, but then she found herself looking at the side of his head, as he started talking to someone in his class that sat across from him.

"Hermione? You all right? You look kind of pale," Edward, the Ravenclaw boy, remarked. Hermione turned to him and smiled, shaking her head, "It's nothing. Forget it."

Edward, being a smart boy, looked to where her eyes were once staring. He frowned at the pale haired blond who was smirking at his fellow Slytherin's display of theatrics while telling him some sort of story. "The nut doesn't fall far from the tree, Hermione."

"What?"

Edward crinkled his brow, something Hermione noticed he did when he was about to explain something. "I know girls find him fascinating. I hear the smart girls in my House rave over him, and none of the guys can ever figure out what they find in him that's so fascinating. But he's pure evil, not much different from his father."

"How do you know? He could be…different by himself," she said, quietly, recalling small moments where Draco wasn't like the Draco people usually spoke of.

Edward shrugged. "The job I had last summer, I heard stories of the two Malfoy men that would make your skin crawl, all from different people. No one goes unaffected with those two around. They're a walking pestilence. And Malfoy's not doing anything to take himself out of his father's shoes."

"Still…" she began but trailed off as Malfoy walked past her without any sign of recognition, but a voice in her head, the same voice that taunted her on the train platform not a few days before, spat viciously, _Mudblood whore._

"Just be careful, Hermione. That's all I'm saying. Sometime things aren't different from what they appear to be. They are what they are, no smoke and mirrors," Edward said gently, noticing her hurt expression. He knew there was something deeper in the rivalry between the Slytherin Malfoy and the Gryffindor Granger than normal. But he didn't probe further. Instead, he said, "Did you read the new essay by Rodrick Saunders?"

Hermione, familiar with the article, became quite interested in Edward's words and pushed the Slytherin out of her mind for the time being.

:-:-:-:-:-:-:-:

Hermione walked back to her dorm, humming an odd tune that she had heard once a very long time ago. Every now and then she would lift her bottle of butterbeer to her lips and take a swig, smack her lips and smile at how rude she must look and sound. But she didn't care. She had just had a lovely discussion with a boy who actually was interested in her opinions, who enjoyed questioning her ideas and approaching them from quite interesting angles that left her wondering why didn't she think of it first.

Still humming, she bid goodnight to the Head's portrait, the gray face that materialized out of the dark clouds, and entered into her extravagant, beautiful room. She loved Hogwarts. She really, really did. And she couldn't understand those who didn't. After the war was over, and Harry was out of danger from Voldemort, Hermione decided that she'd return to Hogwarts and be a Professor. It was her ideal job: spreading knowledge, constantly in access to Hogwarts library and hospitality and good living spaces. It was such a beautiful dream.

"Well, someone's obviously happy," a sneer remarked out of the corner of the couch. Hermione, blushing slightly from being caught humming (she knew she was a terrible singer, even if her mouth was closed), glared at Draco who didn't even look at her, but stared at the fire and added in his bored drawl, "Did that Ravenclaw brat shag you or something?"

Hermione stared at him in silent rage. How could he be so cruel? "No, we actually talked about things that didn't revolve around Quidditch or anything else that you _boys_ are interested in."

Draco inwardly seethed at being called a boy. If only she knew the pain he went though, then she'd understand that he was no boy. "Well, obviously that's a tactic to get you into bed. Merlin, he must be as desperate as Weasley if he sinks so low as to want to shag you." He paused, pretending to ponder and in an after thought remarked, "He's probably gay."

"What the hell is your problem?" she yelled, tears of anger, hurt, and frustration welling behind her eyes, but she dared not let them fall. "You were perfectly nice until I got that letter from Ron. Then you reverted back to your cruel, irritating self! We had a truce."

"The truce is broken. There's only so much of you I can stand," Draco snapped. And he knew that that was a lie.

"You are unbelievable…" she said, shaking her head in disbelief. "I must be the _stupidest_ person to ever walk these halls to think that _you_ could be different from your _father_! I wanted to believe that you weren't that detestable, evil little maggot that people say you are. I wanted to believe that you didn't follow your daddy's footsteps, that you actually had a small drop of _decency_ in you." She clutched her butterbeer in her hand and walked to her room, quietly saying, "But you are what they said you are: a cruel, arrogant, spoiled brat."

Draco stood for a silent moment in anger at her accusations. He stormed towards her and grabbed her, holding her by the neck, reminding him of how he had her next to him in the hallway with Golden Boy Potter cowering before his feet so that Draco wouldn't hurt his precious friend. He still had her small neck in his hand, could feel her smooth skin beneath his palms. He stared right into her eyes, watched how they glowed defiantly. She licked her lips, and he watched, captivated. This was a wrong move. She tempted him too much. But he refused to let her go, for then she would sense his weakness. He was just going to have to intimidate her.

"You lying little slut—"

"You shouldn't talk about your girlfriend like that," Hermione remarked, referring to Pansy, and she chocked somewhat as he clutched her throat. He held her in front of him, lifting her slightly off the ground.

Draco was enraged to the point where he couldn't force his tongue to return vile insults. He couldn't think of anything to call her that would affect her. He could only looked at her, admiring how mean she could be. No trace of fear was evident in her eyes. Defiance, anger, definitely. But fear? None. "Let…me…go..." she rasped out.

He smirked slowly and brought her towards him, his nose almost touching hers, and he whispered, his hot breath bathing her face, "Why should I?"

"Because I'll do this," she said before she thrust her hand forward against his chest. A great blast of air ripped Draco away from her, sending him flying backwards into the wall where he smashed up against it and crumbled to the floor. Hermione, meanwhile, lightly touched ground again, with the help of her element, lightly touched the spots his fingers had purposefully dug into.

She walked over to Draco and stared at him. The crumbled boy looked up at her and gasped out, "How'd you get so strong?"

"Practice makes perfect," she replied coldly and watched, as he closed his eyes and blacked out. Hermione sighed, kneeling down and touching his already bruising forehead. She hoped his crash against the wall wouldn't leave too much brain damage; she liked his intellectual mind. She could still smell the alcohol on his breath and she questioned herself why she didn't notice it right off. It explained a lot. Taking a deep breath, Hermione halfway dragged, halfway used the wind to float Draco back to his room. Lying him on his bed, she made sure he at least looked comfortable and covered him with his blankets. She was repaying the favor.

As she stepped back out into the common room, Hermione finally noticed the bottle of fire whisky sitting on the table. Apparently, Draco helped himself to one that he had gotten Blaise for Christmas. Taking her own butterbeer, she titled the bottle towards Draco's room, almost in a toasting manner and said to an empty room, "Happy Christmas Eve, Draco."

:-:-:-:-:-:-:-:-:

Unlike Hermione's experience with hangovers and memory lapses, Draco remembered every word, every touch, every breath the two shared the night before, and he had never been so humiliated. Not because he had made a fool of himself – and even more embarrassing, he was having a hard time concealing his bruised forehead – but because the look she gave him at breakfast made him feel silly and immature. He hadn't felt like that for quite some time, and some people would say that it was healthy for a person to remember their flaws, that they really hadn't grown into an adult quite yet.

Hermione stayed close to Edward throughout the meals, and Draco spent most of the time imaging what the little Ravenclaw's hair would look like if he set fire to it. The idea was so entertaining that he had found himself laughing outright at the table and receiving odd, questioning glances. Draco almost felt as exposed as that night in the Dark Lord's quarters.

Flashes overwhelmed him and Draco suddenly lost all appetite. No, nothing could have been so humiliating and exposing as that cursed night.

The next few days that passed after Christmas were quiet between the two students. Both would sit opposite of each other, watching but never speaking. One would always find an excuse to leave, but of course wouldn't tell where the other was going. The truce was over. And Draco almost wanted to call it back on to break the heavy silences that suffocated him when he was in her presence.

It wasn't until New Year's Eve that Draco finally made the first attempt of conversation. He didn't quite know what came over him. He had just walked back from the Quidditch field, thinking and flying and practicing his Snitch catching. His fingers were cold, even when he had his gloves on. Draco couldn't recall a more bitter winter. He opened the Common Room to see Hermione sitting in the chair, reading a book. He almost wanted to smirk. Some things never changed.

"It's cold outside," he remarked, looking at the window, purposefully avoiding her eyes and mentally killing himself again and again for saying anything, especially since he didn't even think before he said it. It was like another force was making him speak. And could he come up with a lamer pike up line? _Take knife, cut out tongue …_

"I will not hold a conversation with you until you apologize to me. Drunk or not, you had no right to treat me the way you did," she remarked, looking at him, trying to catch his eyes.

"Apologize? To you? What for?" Draco said in outrage. "I didn't do anything wrong."

"Holy Merlin, how have I _not_ strangled you yet?" Hermione stated more than questioned in irritation. Getting out of the chair, she threw the book back and stormed over to him, and preceded to randomly poke him in the chest to accent her points (and hopefully add more bruises to his pretty pale body to accompany the one on his forehead), "You have to be the most immature person I know! And I've had to put up with _Ron_ for seven years! But even _he_ knew when he was wrong. You…you've never admitted to anything when it was completely your fault."

"Is that supposed to make me crumble and see the error of my ways?" he sneered, giving her a nasty glare. "You're going to have to try harder than that. Your feelings mean nothing to mean, Granger. You are what you are: a mudblood, and a Gryffindor mudblood at that! I don't care what you think or what you say because you are at the bottom of the hierarchy pyramid, Granger, and you'll stay there with the house elves. No, you're lower than the house elves. Fouler than trolls. Disgusting and not fit to be part of the wizardry world, let alone _any_ world. That is why when I fight on the battlefield, Granger, I'll fight in the haze of the afterglow of the spells, and I'll find you, and I'll kill you. I swear to Merlin, I will. And it will be painful, and I will make you regret _ever_ stepping foot into this school and _looking_ at me."

Hermione stared at him, immobilized from wiping away her tears. She looked at him, not knowing what to think, not knowing what to say, not knowing what to do. And finally, with a raspy, chocked voice, whispered only three words, "You're a monster."

She couldn't move away and Draco's towering figure over her made her knees shake. She couldn't believe that he would say those things. She thought he was different. She thought that he was playing the part of being interested in fighting with the Dark Lord. Draco seemed too smart to involve himself in such things and it crushed Hermione to hear those words filled with such hate spill out of his mouth as if it were common truth, not a terrifying threat.

Draco, meanwhile, wanted to run to the bathroom and barf. It was one thing to say nasty things to Potter and Weasley. They were boys. A couple punches and fuming days and it would blow away. But girls…girls were another story. A tiny insult could affect a girl's behavior entirely. Draco couldn't stand tears, either, and watching Hermione's watery eyes bleed clear blood drop after drop after drop made him feel…like his father.

Dark rooms, evil spirits, wasted lives, and he just stood to the side and watched, never once making a sign of outrage, of fear **for** his son.

Draco did what he could do at the moment; he walked past Hermione, locked his door and took out his lighter. He was incredibly stressed, completely overwhelmed with emotions. But he couldn't place his finger on what powerful emotion was consuming him either, and it only caused him to become even more irritated. He played with his fire and tried to drain himself of energy, tried to get that old light headed feeling that he experienced when he first started using his element. And now…nothing. He was getting stronger.

Growling in outrage at how he couldn't pacify himself, Draco ravaged through his cupboards and drawers. Moving clothes and notes and hidden treasures, Draco grinned as his hand closed around a cardboard box. Ripping it out and almost leaping towards the window, he swung it open and finally returned to an old habit that he had missed for so long.

Draco inhaled and held in the smoky nicotine that slithered through his lungs, up his throat, into his brain. "Merlin, what do I do know?" he asked the winter air, the smoke dispersing into the dead season's breath.

And no answer filtered back to him.

:-:-:-:-:-:-:-:-:-:

Since most of you probably didn't read the top (unless your name was up there), I want to say that the reason why this wasn't up sooner (and you guys are probably not going to believe me…it's just so ridiculous) is that I broke my arm. :readers laugh and call Pensive Puddles a liar: Seriously, I did:readers still don't believe: Well, it's true. And typing with a cast on is incredibly difficult because you end up only using one hand. But I'm better and I've finally written this chapter. I'm not too sure what I think about it. I thought I was loosing some of my darkness in the story so I tried to bring it back. You guys probably don't like this chapter that much. But I promise the next chapter will be good. At least, I think so…


	13. A Glimpse at Insanity

**Thank You's to:** Just-mee, firefairy91, scorpiogurl2910, Ellie, DragonOfWinter, CareBearErin, me, Steelo, Hanvu, far away for far too long , PassegeWanderer02, kissmyattitude, joliese, cellosrock753, Pigwidgeon188, anonymous j, missez tom felton, Fallen Flower, Quiescent Sanity, sakuraangel90, DancingBabe, Perfectcircle, SuperSammie325, Dooki, LILHOUSELF, MondayMornings, and Firefox Sunset.

TwilightGirl: Thanks for your betaing. I hate it when I miss typos, and I'm a terrible editor.

RebelSheepSayMoo: Well, I'm glad that I finally can get some insults that sting. It's so pleasing to know that I can have the power to make characters say such evil things.

Sakura Angel90: Actually, I think "Vorare amni" means "Absolute Power". I had a list of Latin words somewhere, and I ended up loosing them. No grammar, just the words. But I'm pretty sure it doesn't mean "I love to eat". Ha, that's kinda cute to think Draco's password would mean that.

Snorlax1084: Thanks for your encouragement. I really do appreciate it.

**Cry Me Tears of Fire**

By Pensive Puddles

Draco sat by his open window, slowly taking in his last cigarette. He savored each breath and with each exhale, felt a burden press harder and harder against his chest. Wasn't he supposed to be feeling better? What was so damn troubling that wouldn't leave him alone?

He tried to be ignorant to the voice in his head that told him that he knew exactly what was the matter. Having a strong will power, Draco suffocated the voice with nicotine smoke. Yet no matter how long he held his breath, questions still pestered him.

Why had he said such cruel worlds? It started off childish. Taunts and barbs he had been using since second year (which made him feel even more childish for reusing his insults). But the taunt had turned into a death threat, and he had felt the venom drip from his tongue. He knew it hurt her. Not the first part; she had always been indifferent to his Mudblood comments. But the last part, where he said he'd kill her, she gave him this…ghastly look. He hadn't seen someone so terrified before. And usually he loved those looks of horror. But this was coming from Granger, a girl who he had studied and observed for a year, and was completely fascinated with. There was just something…_wrong_ in the idea of her being shaken by him.

But why? Why couldn't she be terrified of him? He was Volemort's heir, unknowing to her. She was supposed to fear him.

He didn't now. All reasons told him that she was supposed to be scared of him, and that look of fear in her eyes was supposed to be victorious for him. It foreshadowed his evilness. This was supposed to be to his advantage.

And yet, there was something that told him it was wicked…it almost made him feel…_guilty_.

His mind replayed the incident. It hadn't been the first time. Running away from her and shutting his door to the moment of cruelty didn't stop his mind from reliving the moment. And it hurt to see himself be so brutal to her. It hurt to see her eyes. Those brown, deep brown eyes.

He closed his eyes, freezing time in his mind and observing her face. He could see her tears, catching the fireside glow. He could see her bottom lip trying so hard not to tremble. He could look into those eyes, usually bright and understanding, suddenly shattered and confused.

Draco jerked himself out of his recollections as burning ashes fell against his arm, singeing his skin. Cursing, Draco took one last breathe from his cigarette and snuffed it out. Feeling exhausted, he crawled to his bed, cowering under his soft covers and passed out. Maybe he'd be fortunate again and wouldn't be bothered with those nightmarish dreams of his. Curiously, they hadn't been as frequent since the beginning of winter break.

_He chases after a girl who is running before him, her long hair swings around her back as she turns to look back at him, taunting him to keep up. Her laugh jingles in the air, and it's pleasant to listen to it. He doesn't know who she is, but he feels as if he knows her. He catches her and swings her around. _

"_You've caught me," she laughs, and snuggles up against his chest. He can't see her face; but it doesn't matter. She grabs his hands, pressing them against her lips, whispering, "Promise me that you'll always protect me."_

"_Of course, I will," he promises, kissing her hands in return. She giggles and embraces him. His heart sores._

"_Let's go…let's run away," she says. His heart cries out yes. His mind says to go. But he can't move. She's about to ask him what was wrong with him when all joy they had created evaporates and leaves them alone in a dark room. Evil laughter fills the silence, and dark figures emerge from the shadows. _

"_Now, to prove yourself," the Dark Lord hisses from his throne. "I don't believe the rumors that fellow men have whispered into my ears. Not about my dear heir, oh no. But to prove to them, and to snub whatever future suspicions may rise, you must show your loyalty. Prove that you are my true heir."_

"_Draco? What are they talking about?" the beautiful girl questions, sliding her shaking hand into his. He feels sick. He's scared of what will happen. He **knows** something terrible will happen._

"_Ah, I see you've brought your own prey. Good. Better than the one that we caught for you," the Dark Lord remarks. He waves his hand and two of the figures that encircle the couple and the Dark Lord steps out and grabs the girl, dragging her away from Draco. She screams for him._

_They tie her hands above her head and let her struggle. Draco watches in suspenseful horror._

_And then the Dark Lord confirms what his mind had hypothesized in fear since the darkness over came them: "Rape her."_

_"No! I won't!" he shouts. But the words never leave his mouth, and he watches in chilling revulsion as he starts to walk towards the girl._

_He wants to shut his eyes. He wants to run away. But he can't, and he finds himself obeying the Dark Lord. His eyes watch her face twist in pain, in disbelief, in anger as he rapes her. She screams his name, begging him to stop. Tears of mortification spill from her eyes, making his own water, his heart screams in agony. _

_He doesn't know how long it lasts. It's horrible. He hates every second. And yet, even when he wants to stop, he can't. It's as if another force is controlling him. "Draco…" the girl says weakly, and he looks down at her face, shocked to finally see the face of his victim and wishes he never had._

"_Hermione…?" he gasps. A wave of nausea sweeps over him. Her face is bruised, as if they had beaten her. Parts of her hair are matted with blood. Cuts run all over her chest, bruises from where they grabbed her, touched her, molested her. Vile words and names are engraved into her skin, and he so desperately wants to heal her wounds and take her away to some place safe. He is pinning her hands down over her head and he quickly lets go. "What have I done? What have I done?" he questions, revolted at what he was forced to do. _

_A knife is handed to him, and he takes it. He wants to plunge it into the Dark Lord's heart for making him do such a heinous act. _

"_Kill her." _

_It becomes a chant by the others who watch. And he screams to himself to stop. He shouts to wake himself from his nightmare, but he only hears silence. He yells an inhuman, unnatural sound, as he raises the dagger above his head and brings it down into her chest._

:-:-:-:-:-:-:-:-:-:

Draco's eyes jerked open to reveal panic, pale, dilated pupils. He had a crazed look on his face, so scary that Hermione gasped sharply. When his eyes locked with hers, she was even more startled by his piercing shriek of fear. His face paled of all color, and she wondered how there had been any color before.

The moment became stranger with each confusing second. Draco, still half asleep, or half crazed, clasped her head, and looked at her as if seeing her for the first time. His eyes were red, puffy, almost as if he had been crying. Sweat beaded his brow still, matting his usually styled hair. His chest rose and fell heavily, as if he had been running for a long time. She wondered if maybe she was hallucinating, for she could have sworn that he was caressing the side of her head.

"I didn't want to do it. I swear, I didn't," he said frantically.

"Draco, what's wrong?" Hermione asked. He merely bowed his head and heaved dry sobs, his body shaking uncontrollably. He seemed to momentarily forget that she was there.

After Draco had gone to his room, she had stormed to her own, so angry that she started to throw books around until she banged her elbow sharply against some shelves. The pain brought tears to her eyes, tears of pain that quickly unleashed the tears of sadness she had wanted to shed. She had cried herself to sleep. But then Draco's screams had woken her. He was screaming frantically, and she feared the worse. Rushing over to his room, she found him wiggling on the floor, wrapped in his sheets, clawing at the side of the bed. It was as if he were having a spasm. And now he was mumbling incoherent sentences, denying something she didn't know what.

"What's wrong, Draco?" she repeated, fear turning her insides. She had never seen him so chaotic. It was as if he were insane.

"I tried to stop. I said I wasn't going to do it. And then…and then they took you and they made me…they made me…" he couldn't finish. He looked at her and begged sincerely, "Please don't hate me. Don't hate me."

"I don't hate you," she said, trying to ease his troubled mind. His face somewhat relaxed. And slowly, the crazed glaze faded from his eyes. The two sat there in silence, Hermione watching for another spasm, and Draco trying to grasp his surroundings. Hermione estimated that half an hour passed before someone spoke.

"What time is it?" he asked quietly, his composure blank, except for the exhaustion that his face obviously expressed.

"I don't know. Two? Three?" she estimated, looking out the window.

"You should be asleep," he commented, and she wanted to laugh. He stood up, piling his sheets back on top of his bed and laid down, his eyes transfixed on the wall. She slowly got up and stood silently next to him. Finally, she made a move to the door and his pale hand reached out and grabbed her by her shirt, lightly holding it. He whispered, "Don't go."

It was quite unlike him, and she turned and stared at him. His face looked up at hers pleadingly, almost like a child who had been scared of the monster in his closet. As she came closer, he took her hand in his and held it, pulling her to sit on his bed next to him, whispering again, "Don't go."

"I won't," she responded, and her heart tugged in pity as his hand squeezed hers tightly, in gratitude, in dread to witness more disturbing images he wasn't prepared to see. Hermione found herself incapable of moving, and she didn't feel bothered in the least.

His eyes remained fixed on the wall and she wondered what he was looking at. She looked at him, studying his features. She could somehow tell that he was still half asleep, half trapped in the nightmare he had dreamed. He acted completely unnatural, almost hypnotized. As she continued to hold his hand, she noticed how he slowly relaxed. She dared not speak in fear of breaking his stoic composure and release his fears again.

"They made me do it. I felt so sick, doing it," he said, raising questions in Hermione's head.

"What did they make you do?" she coaxed.

"You looked so happy. I wanted to keep you safe. I wanted to set you free. I wanted to kill them for hurting you like they did," he said almost in monotone.

_He dreamed about me?_ she thought.

"In my mind, I was cutting you free from your bonds and setting you free. But every time I looked, you were still there, trapped. I don't know why I couldn't get away. It was like they had me in an _Imperious_ Curse," he continued. His face finally contorted into an emotion: anger. And he hissed, "I bet _he_ _Imperio'_d me, and just watched again, that basterd! Just like last time…"

Hermione's mind went numb as he continued to talk to himself, continued to recollect his dream. "You screamed for me to stop. But I couldn't, not matter how hard I tried. They had me controlled. And after I had raped you, they handed me a knife, and told me to kill you. I didn't want to. You looked at me…so…crushed, at what I had done. I have never felt so ashamed. And I wanted to free you from that pain that I had caused you. But I didn't want to kill you. I never did. Never. They must have cast a spell on the knife, commanded it to raise my hands and stab you. Oh, Salazar!"

He clutched her hand, his body shaking as he remembered. She didn't pull her hand away, even when he crushed it in his. She couldn't move. He had dreamed he had raped her? Killed her? She felt sick, and wanted to run away from the monster that held onto her.

And as she glanced at him, she faintly grasped that he hadn't wanted to do such a horrendous thing. He had tried so hard to free her in his mind. He had tried so hard to save her. He had been forced to do the wicked deeds. Her heart cracked, as she watched him cover his face, watched him tremble. She asked, "Would you do it, Draco? If they asked you to and you had a free choice, would you rape and kill me?"

He pale eyes, less crazed than ever, look at her and he replied steadily, "Never."

She gave a soft, comforting smile, and reached out to lightly stroke his face. "Then you don't have to worry about anything. I'm alive. I'm fine. It was just a dream."

"Just a dream…" he repeated after her, and rested his head back on his pillow. "It felt so real…"

She didn't know what to say. She just held his hand as he faded into sleep, exhausted.

:-:-:-:-:-:-:-:

Draco groggily opened his eyes, feeling a warm body pressed up against his chest. _Pansy's back from vacation already? _he wondered. Blinking back sleep, he looked to see who was the girl who had her fingers laced with his. His eyes widened as he looked down at Hermione's sleeping figure.

Her wild hair cascaded all over her face, and her exhaled breaths blew strands away from her nose. Draco could see dark bags under her eyes. She wasn't getting enough sleep these past few days, he noticed. He couldn't move. He was lying on his one free arm, and the other hand was encircled in hers. He rested his head back on the pillow, looking at the back of her head. His mind told him that this was wrong. He shouldn't do these types of things with girls like Granger. The Dark Lord's heir shouldn't snuggle with Harry Potter's best friend. This was wrong.

But each breathe that made her side rise and fall, make her back press into his chest, each breathe pushed back those thoughts, and he found himself enjoying the comfort and serenity he hadn't felt in a long while. Slowly he blinked his eyes until they were almost closed, until he was almost asleep, and then she stirred, sighing deeply and rolling on her back and making her way to lay on her other side. Her head bonked lightly against his and he opened his eyes. He watched, fascinated, as her eyelids stirred and finally opened to reveal her hazy brown eyes. They were more exotic up close.

"Are you ok?" she asked quietly, almost afraid to break the morning silence. He wondered if she noticed that they were still holding hands. He hoped she didn't.

Finally registering her question, he only nodded, trying to remember why she'd ask such a question. Eventually, the night's memories fell back into his conscious mind and he looked away from her, feeling ashamed, and then checking himself. He shouldn't feel ashamed. He couldn't feel ashamed. And then he felt her hand stir in his, almost holding it closer, and when he looked back at her soft, concerned countenance, he wanted to feel ashamed. Somehow, feeling ashamed for that face wasn't so ludicrous. She certainly was a strange and powerful girl. And the beauty of it was that she didn't know it.

"You stayed the whole night," he said more than asked. He rolled his eyes in his head. _Obviously, you moron._

She nodded. "I was worried what would happen if you woke up and I wasn't there. You'd probably be fine. You always seem to be fine," she mumbled off into incoherent, embarrassed sentences and Draco felt a small grin tug at his lips. She cared for him. Even after what he said to her, she still would do such a kind act for her enemy.

"Thank you," he said, cutting her off.

Looking up into his face, rosy cheeks darkening into a pleased hue, Hermione replied, "You're welcome."

Their breaths were shallow as they rested in silence. Neither wanted to move, neither wanted to get up. Draco finally stretched, letting go of her hand. And when he did, he immediately longed to feel her soft palm cradled in his hand again. He looked up at the ceiling, savoring the peace between them. It felt good.

She sat up in his bed, her legs swinging over the bed, her toes almost grazing the floor. She paused and he questioned her where she was going. "Don't you want me to leave?"

He was silent. Should he tell her what he truly felt, even when he wasn't sure himself? He wasn't sure if he was ready to trust his own feelings. "I don't know."

Draco tried not to look at her, but by his peripheral vision, he could see her head turn slightly and her lips pull up in a small grin. After a few moments, she finally spoke, "I can't believe this is the last day of winter vacation."

He sighed in agreement. He was looking forward to seeing Pansy and Blaise again, but wouldn't that then mean that he couldn't be friends with Hermione again? These little associations would have to stop, and the bickering and name-calling would start up again. He didn't want that to happen. He had finally found someone somewhat like him, someone that understood the pain and ecstasy in Dark Magic. These comforting bonds they had built so awkwardly were soon to be shattered by the incoming call of the Hogwarts train.

Little did he know that the same thoughts were flowing through Hermione's head as well.

:-:-:-:-:-:-:-:-:

"Come on, quickly!" Hermione whispered in the dark staircase, her feet lightly tapping against the steps that spiraled upwards.

"I'm tired. I don't want to see fireworks," Draco grumbled, trudging alone after her. Neither spoke about last night. Neither spoke about the change that would take place when their friends came back. They simply pretended that nothing was the matter. And they both enjoyed this ignorance. He tripped over a step, quickly catching himself, and snapped, "I can't see anything!"

Taking out his lighter, he ignited a small ball of fire in his hands that light the staircase in front of them. "Not so bright!" Hermione hissed. Draco decreased the intensity of the flame before asking, "Where are we going again?"

"I told you, it's a surprise," she said, and he could almost feel her anxious smile laced with the words she spoke.

"I hate surprises," he mumbled, and she pretended not to hear him.

Eventually, the steps stopped and he watched Hermione push roughly against a battered door. The hinges creaked and they both winced at the loud sound. Nonetheless, they were soon outside, standing one of the rooftops of Hogwarts. The wind blew roughly against their skin, and Hermione held out her hands, focusing on tunneling the wind to fly over them. Draco watched, fascinated. Wiping her brow, lightly sweating from the long trek up the steps and the use of her powers, Hermione sat down and motioned Draco to sit next to her. He came and stood, not wanting to dirty his clothes if he didn't have to. Hermione rolled her eyes.

"And what are we looking at?" Draco questioned, trying to see what her eyes were fixed on.

"There's a tale that two drunk wizards bought all the fireworks in Hogsmeade one New Year's Eve. They wanted to have the brightest, wildest display of the century. They ended up drinking all day and passing out before they could even light the fireworks," Hermione giggled at the wizards' idiocy. "They woke up the next day at the same time, and still thinking it was New Year's Eve, set off the fireworks. And to honor that stupidity, Hogsmeade sets off their fireworks a day late."

"They don't set them off on New Years then?"

"No. They still set them off on New Years. They just save all the good ones for the following day. Quite convenient for people like us, wouldn't you say?" Hermione remarked, laughing. Draco chuckled. Hermione looked at her watch. "They're about to start. You can't see anything from over there, Draco. The towers will get in your way. It's always better when you sit. Ron discovered that. Harry and I sat down throughout the fireworks display, 'ooh'-ing and 'ahh'-ing and Ron never saw one firework! Turns out one of the towers blocked his view. He couldn't hear anything either, because Hogsmeade somehow is able to control the sound waves from traveling over to Hogwarts and waking up the students."

Her eyes widened and she pointed excitedly, "Look!"

Draco looked and found himself with Ron's problem years ago: the towers blocked his view. Squatting down next to Hermione, he could see the lights amongst the pillars of towers. Sitting down next to her, he was finally able to see the fireworks completely.

"You know, I think the last time I saw fireworks with my parents was four years ago," she remarked sadly.

"I haven't watched fireworks with my parents at all," Draco commented. He wasn't fishing for sympathy. Besides, he didn't want any in the first place. He immediately heard her sympathetic sigh and he shook his head, laughing it off, " It's not that big of a deal. My parents were off at their own parties when I was too young to go, and then I was off at my own parties when I could leave the house. I don't like spending the holidays with my family anyway. Too boring and superficial."

"The holidays are supposed to be a family time," Hermione remarked. "Or at least they _were_."

"Times change," he shrugged, his eyes taking in the exotic spirals and sparks of purple and white and blue.

"They sure do," Hermione replied.

Draco looked at her, watching the afterglow of the fireworks flicker in her dark eyes.

_This is fine. This is as far as it goes, Draco. After this night, everything will be back to normal, and this will just be a closing chapter of Hogwarts_, he thought.

_What if I don't want this to be a closing chapter?_

_You have no choice. Listen, you've had your fun. You've "experimented" and now you're done. It's time to go back to the way things were. It's time to go back to the old ways, the ways you were taught to do. No more associating with Mudbloods. No more associating with Potter's friends. This is it._

_I might as well get up and leave now then_, he snarled at the cold voice; it sounded so much like his father's.

_Yes, you should._

Draco found himself incapable of moving. He enjoyed this power of disobeying his father. The darker part of him started to speak, snarl, hiss, taunting him.

_Get away, you weakling. You're too good for her. You're going to have to kill her anyway._

_I won't kill her._

_You won't? We'll see about that when she has her wand pointed at you and kills you with a quick 'Unforgivable'. We'll see then if you won't have the motivation to kill her. Survival of the fittest. Everyone saves their own skins. You know this._

He blinked, focusing on her smooth skin, her dark eyes, her full lips. If this was their last night together, he felt as if he needed to know, once and for all, what those lips felt like. And maybe these torments and fascinations would stop.

But he couldn't kiss her. He wouldn't kiss her. He was afraid of what would happen. If kissing her, would he discover that her lips were something that were so captivating that he found himself ensnared by her forever, or would he discover that they were just like all the other lips of girls and destroy this beautiful fascination he that was Granger? Was he willing to destroy this fascination? Yes. Was he willing to find out that maybe this fascination was the best thing ever, something that he couldn't tear himself away from, something that he grew to feel affectionate towards? No. He wasn't ready for that.

And even in kissing her, it was like secretive revenge against his father and the Dark Lord: the heir of Voldemort kissing a Mudblood. But in doing so, he'd let down his family, break his own code of conduct he had learned since first understanding words. And in kissing her, he could finally do something he had wanted to do for so long.

Or even if in kissing her, he would destroy the perfection that was Hermione, that was Granger. He felt evil when he was next to her. By touching her purity with just a brush of his lips…he didn't know if he could handle the…guilt? No, Malfoy's never felt guilty.

But he wasn't like Malfoys in the past, now was he? Maybe he did feel guilty. Guilty for dreaming of killing her, guilty of dreaming of assaulting her, guilty of tarnishing her innocence. Yes, he felt guilty, or would feel if he did.

He couldn't kiss her. He couldn't.

She turned her head towards him, her face incredibly close to his. She didn't pull away, and he didn't move either. He watched in horror as his hand reached up and lightly touched the side of her face. He watched in anticipation as he moved forward. He watched, his chest numbing with incessant heat as her eyes closed. And he found himself closing his eyes as well, and titling her head up to touch her lips to his.

It would have made a beautiful picture, the fireworks creating the background as the two silhouettes closed and became one. Gently he kissed her, holding her head lightly, and she reached up and held onto his jacket, responding to his kiss. And then the moment of beauty faded and was replaced by one of guilt, anger, and confusion.

Draco pulled roughly away from her, pulling so hard that he flung himself off the ground. He clutched his head, his eyes shut tightly. What had he done? What had he just done?

Hermione sat, puzzled and scared as Draco paced back and forth, mumbling incomprehensible sentences. She somehow sensed that this was wrong. Hermione was a smart girl. She put Draco's personality and Draco's family background together and knew that what he had just done violated everything he knew.

"Draco?" she called, getting up off the ground. Her lips still tingled.

"No! That shouldn't have happened, that shouldn't -- " he cut himself off, pounding the side of his head. Hermione could guess that he was confused. But to what state of confusion, Hermione would never know.

So confused was he that Draco's sense were totally burned. His emotions were uncontrollable. On one hand, that kiss was the best thing he had had in a long while. On another hand, it was the last thing that he was supposed to do. He had unleashed the curiosity inside of him, and he finally experienced the one thing that he had always wondered. And now, knowing that it wasn't terrible, that it wasn't trite, was crushing. He wanted to return to it, wanted to experience it forever. But he couldn't, because he would have to kill her one day, not by choice, but because it was required.

Hermione watched as his skin started to glow a dark red. She watched, shocked, as his skin burst into flames. Draco released an unearthly shriek of pain as the fire licked his body. Taking out her wand, Hermione screamed, "_Aquarious!"_

Draco was doused in winter that instantly steamed. Lying on the rooftop, burnt and charred, Draco gasped in pain. The wind broke past the barrier that Hermione had created beforehand and blew against them both. Using the wind, Hermione lifted Draco lightly in the air and ran him to the Infirmary.

Her cries startled the nurse as the doors burst open. Hermione was almost sobbing. Madame Pomfrey quickly laid him on one of the beds and asked, "What happened, child?"

Hermione's mind searched for a logical answer. Finally, not knowing what else to say, said, "He was lighting fireworks on the roof. I followed him because I didn't know what he was doing. I ended up startling him and the rocket he was trying to light backfired and exploded on him."

"Damn, the second year in a row," the old nurse cursed. Hermione tried to hide her surprise. "You may leave if you wish. This might be a little messy."

Administrating a bottle to Draco's lips, who drank it painfully, the nurse went to work at healing his body. After a long while, the nurse said, "I'm afraid that's all I can do for the time being. The dead skin will start to flake off into ashes. I don't know what his features will be like when the ashes all fall off. I must have a word with Dumbledore. The poor man doesn't sleep that much anymore. This is the last time where fireworks are permitted. Someone could get killed next year!"

The old nurse hobbled off after making sure her patient was rested and out of terminal danger, and after making sure that Hermione didn't need any attention either. Hermione wiped her face, rubbing the dry residue of salt off her skin. She looked at Draco, whispering when she knew they were quite alone, "I know your magic will heal you. You've done it before. I've seen you do it."

Draco didn't respond. His eyes were drooping. The potion was tiring him. Right before he fell into a deep sleep, Hermione whispered almost in awe, "Look, Draco! It's finally snowing!"

Hermione thought he was looking out the window and admiring the soft, white flakes. All the while, he was really looking at her.

:-:-:-:-:-:-:-:

**A/N:** Yes, I know, I know, it's been over a month. Good news is that the cast it off (which probably won't mean that my editing will get any better)! Bad news is that my school grades are dropping. Which means that I have to put homework (blah) first instead of writing this story. Actually, this chapter was one of the hardest to right so far. I seem to say that every chapter now. But I've got half the next chapter done – it in truth it was supposed to be in this chapter, but oh well. Actually, that whole dream scenario of Draco's just popped into my head when I wrote. Who knows if I'll ever use it again for some future foreshadowing, but if I ever need anything, hey, there's some connection I can create.

To all you fluffers out there, I finally got a kiss in. Of course, it might not have gone according to what you'd like. :giggle evilly: I must ruin all beauty.

If you'd be so kind as to leave a note of what you thought, I'd most appreciate it. By the way, what were your thoughts on the 4th Harry Potter film? I'd be curious to find out.


	14. December Affairs

**A/N:** Well, here again I took my lovely time updating. Thanks to all you wonderful people who left me reviews! In fact, I think you're so wonderful (especially cause you got me up to over 300 reviews!) that I think that I shall name all of you and make other writers feel jealous that I have such wonderful reviewers:

Dmone, gleamingeyes, Ellie, sweet-witch, Fayola, QuillQueen, Fate Weaver 42, nady, elena, grlkat, yenyen, Natural-181, pigwidgeon188, scorpiogurl2910, mione13, thecutiedisease,CrimsonTears93, TwilightGirl, LivingImpared, scrivania, Hidden Identity1, becca boo, steff, spotzplaya888, Secret Thought, LILHOUSELF, wolfsbabe midnight/babmidnight, cellosrock753, DragonOfWinter, and prettigurl7.

KESOO: I'm not sure how long this story will be…let's just say that I'm surprised I've lasted this long. Of course, the more important question is whether or not I can keep this story interesting and not start going downhill and start writing a lame plotline and utter crap. :chatters teeth in fear:

Ninifanficker3838801: You're introducing your friends to my work? That's incredibly flattering, I'm glad you like it that much! Gee wiz, now that just means I no room for disappointment! All this pressure, heavens no!

CareBearErin: Thanks again for you wonderful analytical review! I really do enjoy reading what you pull out of what I write.

Celestial lelila: Lots of questions, but they were good ones. I'm glad to see that someone noticed it and actually pointed it out to me! But basically, this is the jest, and I hope I somehow explained it or led onto it in previous chapters (if not…well, here we go!): In order to control Dark Magic, of any kind, a wizard must be incredibly powerful and talented because Dark Magic is more complex than simple magic, which is why so few work with it – at least, this is my view on it. Hermione is powerful mentally, and I believe she is magically as well, she just is overshadowed by Harry and although she may not be too quick at knowing what to do in danger, she is a quick learner, and quite ambitious, and these traits help her control and conduct magic better. I probably will address this more later on, because maybe by then I'll have it figured out better in my head, especially Draco's ritual. ;) Thanks for your questions though! I do appreciate it when people ask!

Firefox Sunset: Well, I'm afraid this isn't a big "Ta-Da!" chapter either, maybe another "bum"-y chapter. I'm just trying to get along to the main plot, and tying up the little loose ends. ;) But I hope you keep reading anyway: D

Dooki: Yes, I thought that a kiss where the guy burst into flames was a nice out-of-the-ordinary touch. Down with nice first kisses:)

To Bips and missez tom felton: Both of you actually pointed out the same thing, which I never would have picked out and I'm glad you did. It's interesting to read what people will notice and observe in what is written. I never noticed that my rape scene focused more on Draco's emotional suffering. I do personally dislike reading rape scenes, and I don't enjoy being too graphic in my writing, because I believe being overly graphic ruins the moment: you spend so much time visualizing that you don't know what's exactly being felt by the character. Of course, that's just my personal feeling towards these type of things. But thanks for pointing that out for me!

* * *

**Cry Me Tears of Fire**

_by Pensive Puddles_

* * *

It was the typical display of after-vacation exhaustion: the students were sprawled out over all the seats, using their bags and each other as pillows to further make their naps more comfortable. The train's constant clanking and pounding provided a steady rhythm that drooped even the most resistant eyelids of students, who fought so hard to stay awake to enjoy their last few hours of freedom before returning to another semester of school.

Very few students talked, and those who did were usually the younger years, who were roughly shoved by the older years to one end of the train. Damn annoying brats; they had no concept of a vacation. The older years knew how it was done: vacation wasn't about sleep and relaxation, it was about doing anything, everything with everyone and having the time of your life, stay up late and sleep in until you can't sleep anymore.

Just as many previous train rides before, the usual gang of Slytherins rested. Pansy sat next to the window, her beautiful eyes watched the magnificent landscape fall behind her. Every now and then she'd send an irritated glance at Goyle who randomly released a loud snore, and she'd grimace in disgust when Crabbe smacked his lips, causing a blob of drool to dangle from his bottom lip. She still couldn't understand why Draco put up with the two blokes. But then again, they were more like bodyguards than friends, not to mention that the two boys were being paid by Draco's father to make sure Draco stayed out of trouble. Surprisingly, while their skulls were so thick that trying to pass an O.W.L. (let alone a N.E.W.T.), was damn near impossible, the two boys could keep their mouth shut. Money does have a way of making the mouth precautious of its words.

As her eyes returned back to the landscape on the other side of her window, her fingers lazily twirled Blaise's hair, who's head rested comfortably in her lap. He titled his head inward, resting his nose against her stomach. Her heart jolted a little as he nuzzled her unconsciously in his sleep. And she tried to hide the smile that reached her lips.

So close, their noses brushed cautiously, gently against each other's. They could taste the alcohol on each other's breath, and it never had been so tempting.

Pansy shook her head and focused on the sky outside. She couldn't think of that night. But when you tell yourself to ignore something, you tend to concentrate on it more than before when you told yourself not to think of it.

The dim lights revealed the faintest outline of their silhouettes. The music pounded so loud that the beat vibrated in their chest, stomach, body. Her back was against the wall and he pressed up against her, his hands resting on her hips, trying to sneak underneath her blouse. She tugged at his shirt, pulling him closer to her, trying to capture his lips with hers because she wanted it, because it was a game. A cat and mouse game, where he'd come for her and she'd hid and she'd try to snatch him and he'd slip away. It was exciting, aggravating, and aroused them so strongly that she couldn't remember how they ended up in the bathroom stall with him kissing her neck, one of her legs wrapped around his waist and her back pressed roughly against the side of the stall.

It didn't go any father than that. They didn't have sex, and she thanked Merlin that she caught herself before they did. Her stomach turned at the thought, not because the idea repulsed her, but because she felt guilty.

"Blaise…" she whispered, trying to steady both of her feet on the ground. He pressed his lips against hers, pulling away just enough to gasp hoarsely, "Merlin, I love you."

She knew then that the alcohol wasn't talking. No amount of booze could smother that distinctive look and feel that she was all too familiar with: that look of need, of love.

"_Blaise, I…" she couldn't finish, her tongue refused to form the words. She was too shocked to say anything, and she didn't want to say anything that would hurt her dear friend. He smiled, a smile that she had seen too many times and new that it was a façade. "Never mind, Pans. Too much alcohol tonight, eh?" he said, chuckling. _

_She knew that it hurt him to laugh it off. She could hear it in the very tattered ends of his chuckle that he was trying to cover up something, something that he wasn't supposed to reveal. "Blaise," she began, wanting to straighten things out._

"Don't worry, love," Blaise soothed, kissing her lightly on the forehead and opening the door for her to walk out. "We caught ourselves. That's all that matters."

He avoided her for the rest of the night, and it wasn't because he was embarrassed by what they had almost done. Multiple times, Blaise had opened the door when she was changing, and she had barged into the bathroom when he was stark naked and occasionally doing something inappropriate. Neither of them had anything to hide from each other. But she knew, just by the tentative way that he moved and acted around her that he was trying to suppress something.

The beautiful girl was familiar with a boy's actions. She had Draco to practice on. And as she and Draco parted ways and tested their skills on others, Pansy became familiar with the kisses and words that meant nothing, and those that meant something. And Blaise's were not "nothing".

But what made her feel guilty was not that Blaise felt something for her, but that out of all the times she was told that she was loved, and out of all the times her skin was bruised by feverous, frantic kisses and bite marks, not one made her feel so alive and exhilarated as Blaise's. Even as she thought about it now on the train, the idea of him waking up now and kissing her again, sliding his hands underneath her shirt and touching her stomach and back gently sent the most pleasant shivers through her body. She had never, ever gotten such a sensation from Draco.

And that was what made it wrong: the fact that it wasn't Draco who was giving her this pleasure, but Blaise.

Pansy blinked hard, trying to pull herself away from her fantasies of Blaise. She looked down at the person in question and grinned softly, as she continued to twirl her finger around one of his brown locks of hair. His face had lost the chubbiness it held when he was a child. His body now was tall and lean, and his shoulders were broad. His brown hair had always been interesting to watch, mostly because he'd style his hair in the most dramatic ways. When he was younger, he used to have short hair, which later morphed into a mohawk, and then grew into a long shag. Now he settled for something in-between, long enough for the corners of his hair to poke out from underneath his winter caps, and his hair had the tendency to curl at the tips. He knew he looked good, or "hot" as some girls enjoyed to gush in the bathroom stalls. He had once said that he "he had to keep up with Draco", that "to fall behind in looks meant leaving his blond haired friend with no competition", and that he "was the one that all the girls came to when rejected by the popular Slytherin". He had always joked that it was a good business for him. Pansy loved Blaise's cheekiness.

But while his body changed, his eyes remained the same: playfully bright and held a twinkle of child naivety. She knew that he wasn't as childishly naïve as he appeared, but he pretended to be, more for his friends' sake than for himself; they depended on that stroke of innocence to remind them of the better times, the purer times.

She treasured Blaise almost more than Draco. But she could never possibly choose between the two boys. Each boy had his special quirks and traits that captivated her. Each boy reflected her, and she reflected him; they mirrored each other and become one person. Alone they were fine; but together they were invincible. They were childhood friends, all three of them.

But over the years, she inwardly understood that she depended on Blaise to get her out of the scrapes she got herself into: psycho, possessive boyfriends, hangovers, drunk father. She counted on him to help her when she fell, and he was always there to pick her up. While Draco was the one who would carry her back to school after she had too many drinks at the bar, Blaise was the one who allowed her to sleep in his bed and slept on the floor himself. He was a true gentleman. And anyone would question why she favored the blond boy over the brunet one. She herself sometimes questioned it. Blaise was her best friend, the one she could firmly believe in to save her life. He would willingly give up his life for hers if she were in danger.

But there was something about Draco that she felt more connected with. There was some indescribable connection between the two of them that she didn't have with Blaise. Draco was her physical comforter. He was the one whose words made her feel beautiful. He was the one she loved more than anything, the one she'd sacrifice herself for to save his life, the one she would marry and stay loyal to.

_The club still had people trooping into to join the New Year festivities. The party wasn't as fun anymore. Her mind was on the two people she cared most about in the world: Draco and Blaise, the man she loved, and the man who loved her. _

_Merlin! How could she have let it happen? _

"Pansy, I won't tell. He'll never know. I promise you," Blaise swore, pulling her close in a friendly hug. Deep down, she wished that the hug could have been more than just friendly…

She hadn't been that drunk either. For some reason, she found the idea of kissing Blaise funny. She reasoned that she could play it off that she had too much to drink. But that first kiss, the first kiss that was supposed to be comical, turned into such passion…she closed her eyes.

She wished it had never happened. She wished she and Blaise never went to the bar. She wished they had stayed at Blaise's house and enjoyed the fireworks that his family always set off each New Year's. Why did they have to change their New Year's plans? She pounded the back of her head against the wall, not too loud that she disturbed her sleeping boys. Merlin, she wished she never knew of Blaise's feelings. She wanted to cry, just curl up in the corner of one of the train compartments and sob. She wanted to rip the memory out of her head because then maybe she wouldn't be longing to return to it. She wanted to rip off her skin because then maybe it wouldn't be burning for the touch of his skin against hers. She wanted to cut off her hair because then maybe she wouldn't long for his fingers to run through it again. She wanted it to all end…all of it.

Warm skin rubbed against her palm and she looked down to find Blaise playing with her hand, his dark eyes looking up into hers. He didn't say anything; he didn't have to. He merely squeezed her hand, and it was all the comfort that could never be expressed in words.

:-:-:-:-:-:-:-:-:-:-:

Crabbe and Goyle were already pushing their way to the train door when the train pulled into the Hogwarts station. The two boys were hungry and were eager to get to the Great Hall; it was almost dinner time. With the absence of the two bodyguards, Blaise and Pansy were left alone in the coupe. Blaise continued to rest on Pansy's lap, and Pansy never stirred to motivate him to move.

The train whistled, and Blaise sighed. Neither of them wanted to leave, and Blaise didn't want to return to reality. Because reality was a world where Pansy "belonged" to Draco, a world where Blaise was just Pansy's and Draco's friend, a world where Blaise took care of Pansy and was ignored for his efforts, a world where a boy was secretively in love with his best friend and knew that admitting this love would hurt more than just one person. And again Blaise had to suppress the urge to hold her close to him, to inhale the scent of her hair, to beg her to forget Draco and be with him instead.

He helped her get her bags off the overhead compartment. Neither had spoken of the incident at New Years. It was something that they were trying to forget for the benefit for each other and Draco. Pansy looked into her small hand mirror and fluffed her hair. Rubbing away the mascara residue, she walked towards the door, but stopped as his deep voice questioned, abruptly and almost desperately, "What do you see in him?"

Her hand continued to rest on the door and she slowly slid it shut, turning around, her back resting against it. Her eyes focused almost unwillingly on him. His brown bangs hung in front of his face, and somehow it was easier not to have to look at him.

"You've never told me," he added.

"I didn't think I had to," she replied.

"Well, you do now!" he said sharply, swinging his bangs out of his eyes. She started at his abrupt change, and noticing her uneasiness, he gave a quivering grin and shook his head. "I'm sorry, I didn't mean to –"

"It's ok. It's my fault," she admitted. She breathed deeply. The silence was overpowering, yet neither of them dared to move.

"Do you love him?" Blaise asked quietly.

She tried to laugh, but it came out short and awkward. "Don't be ridiculous, Blaise. Of course, I love him."

"No," he cut her off gently, "Do you _really_ love him?"

"Yes," she immediately responded, her eyes staring at the carpeted floor. She swallowed when she saw his feet come towards her. She didn't want to look up, knowing his presence was already intoxicating. But even against her better judgment, she looked.

"You love him…?" he stated more than questioned, but even that statement sounded skeptical

A pause.

She pushed him hard against the chest, suddenly yelling, "Why do you have to know anyway? You never gave a damn before! I don't need this right now, Blaise. New Year's was a mistake, and I never meant for that to happen. I've got a good relationship with Draco and –"

"Good relationship! Both of you sleep around with other people! You rarely talk anymore. How is that a good relationship?" he yelled.

"It just is! It's always been this way and I'm not going to change it now on the whim of some stupid accident," she snapped, tears clinging to the corners of her eyes.

"Stupid accident, eh? You can't deny that we had something, Pans. You know that there was something there, something that you and Draco never had, never _have_ together," he said.

"Yeah? And what would that be then?" she huffed.

Blaise came up to her, his head lowering, and just above her lips, whispered, "Love."

She had no time to protest for his lips pressed against hers, and the familiar, sinful feeling that enveloped her back at the club overwhelmed her again, and she responded to his heated kisses with just as much enthusiasm. _So this is love then?_

His hand's didn't roam over he body like most boys' hands tended to do. His lips stayed on hers, never feverishly kissing her neck or chest or face. He kissed her with a simple, true kiss that she rarely experienced, a kiss not inspired by spontaneous passion, but inspired by long-felt love. How she longed to feel this from Draco…

She pulled away, walking to the door. "No, Blaise. I…we can't. Even if…no, I can't do it. I can't."

Tears dribbled down her face and she tried hard not to sniffle, and she didn't realize she was crying until she found herself cradled to Blaise's chest, clinging onto him for comfort, for release from the frustrating, confusing emotions. "I just…I just…" she chocked.

"Sh, Pans. Don't worry. He doesn't and won't know because I won't tell and neither will you. We'll forget it ever happened," he said. He said these things, but he never really meant them. He wanted Draco to know. He wanted Draco to break up with her. He didn't want Pansy to forget because he knew he'd never be able to erase if from his mind. But he said them because it was what she wanted to hear from a potential lover, from a friend. Forget…just forget it all.

_What if I don't want to forget?_ she thought, but instead nodded in agreement, although with slightly difficulty.

"Come on. Go on outside. I'll bring out the suitcases," encouraged Blaise, lightly tapping her out the door. She nodded, wiping her face and calming herself.

"Thank you, Blaise," she whispered, and then disappeared into the crowded aisle of the train.

Blaise stood in the empty compartment, and sniffed sharply, wiping away the own tears from his eyes. He breathed heavily. "Damn it, Pansy."

He loved her. The only other comparison one could make that might show the depth of his love for her would be to combine Pansy's loyalty to Draco, Harry's love for Hermione, Ron's dumbstruck fascination and eager-to-please for any Veela that walked by. Put the three forms of love together, winnow out the flaws, and you were left with Blaise's love. And just like the other three forms of love, his love shared the same flaw: the love wasn't returned.

:-:-:-:-:-:-:-:-:-:-:

Hermione waited in the shadows of the station. She didn't want to be seen. She knew she was supposed to be doing her Head Girl duties and help guide the younger years back up to the castle. But she didn't want to leave the darkness because then she'd have to face him…and she didn't know if she was quite ready for it.

Yet Hermione knew she'd have to come out of hiding; she had a message to give. Let's make one point specifically clear: Hermione Granger was no messenger girl. Well, that's not necessarily true. She gave messages only when she felt she should for the benefit of others, or just to be a nice person. _Oh, just face the facts, Hermione! You ARE a messenger girl…and you don't mind it in the slightest, _she taunted herself, and she didn't retaliate to the gibe either.

Her eyes noticed a familiar jacket that she had tried on a week earlier. Pansy stood on the steps of the train, fluffing her hood around her face, and smoothing out the nonexistent wrinkles around her perfect waist. Hermione found herself trapped in a moment of jealously, wishing that she had a body like Pansy's, even for a day. She watched as Blaise helped her down the steps, watched him touch the small of her back and guide her out of harms way of intruding younger years. The way he took care of her, it softened her heart. It was a sweet gesture. Hermione knew that Blaise was friends with Pansy, and he hovered around her like a loyal bodyguard. She sometimes wished Ron and Harry would treat her as delicately – not that Hermione couldn't carry her own weight; she could do just fine without her boys, better even! But there were times, even for the shortest of moments, where Hermione wanted to be a delicate girl and have her boys treat her gently: offer a hand when getting off the train, carrying her bags for her, watch out for youngsters who were inclined to bumping rudely into her, and then threatening them bodily injury if they touched her again. The little things…it made a hell of a difference.

But that type of behavior wasn't what she'd get out of her boys. She loved her boys just the same. And now she had to push them out of her mind and do what Draco had asked her to do. Her thoughts instantly flew to Draco, their kiss in the haziness of the fireworks, and him burning himself. She knew what had caused it; it was completely obvious: he had lost control of his emotions. Her logical mind analyzed the situation and understood that Draco's brutal background of ingrained mottos of the evilness of Muggles and Mudbloods conflicted brutally against his actions that violated everything he was taught. And she didn't allow her mind to wander any further than that.

Hermione walked towards the Slytherins who were gazing around the platform, obviously searching for their pale-haired comrade. Hermione felt her face flush as she caught Pansy's critical, patronizing eyes staring at her, looking at her as if she were one of Hagrid's abominable creatures. She hated being around Pansy sometimes; the Slytherin girl carried an air around her that said four things: I'm prettier, richer, and superior than you; get away from me before your filthiness tarnishes my perfectness.

Hermione rolled her eyes mentally: "perfectness" isn't even a word. _Yes, but it sure as hell fits in this case! _

Crabbe and Goyle suddenly stood in front of her, stopping her from coming any closer to Blaise and Pansy, almost shielding the two Slytherins from her. She felt tiny in front of their towering figures. They looked down at her with their brooding, stone faces, a look that showed that they weren't asking her what was the nature of her business because it didn't concern them, but that she should tell them anyway if she wanted her body to still be in one whole piece.

"I need to speak to Zibani," she stated. Goyle and Crabbe looked over their shoulders, and moved when they received a slight head bob from Blaise.

"What do you want, Mudblood?" Pansy snapped, her eyes already narrowing in disgust.

Hermione resisted rolling her eyes and stared hard at Blaise. "I have a message from Malfoy – "

"From Draco? What about? I'd have never suspected Draco to be so desperate as to send you to deliver messages for him…He must be in trouble, unless you did something to him. You better not have hurt my Draco, Granger, or I swear I'll --"

"Pansy!" barked Blaise, holding onto her arm. Pansy closed her mouth abruptly, glancing up at Blaise who had his eyes fixed on Hermione. Hermione had never felt so exposed. "What's the message, Granger?"

Hermione looked up at Blaise, vaguely noting in her mind that Blaise was a very handsome gentleman. _Too bad he's a Slytherin…_ Hermione glanced at Pansy. Draco told her to make sure she told Blaise, only. Pansy didn't know of his powers, and he didn't want her finding out either. She glanced again at Pansy and back up at Blaise. He got the hint and told Pansy to leave them alone for a moment.

"I will not move, Blaise Zibani! I have as much right to know what's going on! Don't touch me, Goyle!" she shrieked as the two bulky Slytherins lightly pushed her away from Blaise and Hermione. Throughout the commotion, Hermione stepped closer to Blaise who leaned down to hear her and she whispered, "He wants me to tell you that you were right; he wasn't as strong as he thought he was."

Blaise's nodded. He understood. Hermione pretend that she had no idea what the words meant; she and Draco promised to each other that they wouldn't tell others of each other's powers. Blaise looked at Hermione, who still continued to order, "He's in the Hospital Wing."

Again, the brunet nodded. "Thank you, Granger."

Stunned, Hermione stood on the platform, the moment around her taking a little longer to catch up. Blaise ordered Crabbe and Goyle to grab their stuff, and then taking Pansy by the arm, ushered her to one of the carriages, all the while whispering something in her ear. Pansy quieted and looked at him worriedly. As Draco's friends disappeared into the crowd of students, Hermione snorted quite unladylike and whispered, "Well I'll be…"

_There are some good-mannered Slytherins after all_. She scolded herself for being judgmental. Like everyone else, Hermione had fallen under the stereotypical plague of judging a person by their school badge: smart if from Ravenclaw, nice but completely talent-less (except the rare, _rare_ cases like Cedric Diggory) if from Hufflepuff, brave and outgoing if from Gryffindor, and cold and snobbish if from Slytherin. She sighed. Even the smartest girl could be dull witted at times…

"Hermione!" a voice called. Her body froze, her breath catching in her throat. She closed her eyes and swallowed. It wasn't the person who called her that repulsed her; it was the others the person was with.

She turned around and found herself enveloped in Harry's warm arms, padded with what looked to be a new homemade-knitted sweater by the infamous magical hands of Mrs. Weasley. "Harry!" she cried back just as enthusiastically – she did miss Harry over the break. Harry hadn't been the one who hurt her.

It seemed like an eternity before she felt her feet back on the ground; Harry had grown tired of stooping down for long periods of time to hug Hermione, and instead resorted to lifting her completely off the ground. And she wished that she'd never touch the ground again because in doing so only meant –

"Hi Hermione."

:-:-:-:-:-:-:-:-:-:

"Draco, baby, are you all right? What happened?" Pansy questioned, holding the pale boy's hand. Blaise watched from the side, trying to keep his stomach from twisting in jealousy. He couldn't help but think: _if I set myself on fire…_

"Pans, I'm fine. I told you, the fireworks just got out of control," he soothed, rubbing her hand. Draco's skin was nearly restored. There were a few parts that were bandaged, some skin that was taking longer to heal, but the nurse had commented that he was recovering quite nicely: the new Cell-Repair potion was working quite well. "Hey, you look exhausted. Go take a nap. I'll be out soon, and then we'll do something fun, all right?"

She grinned, squeezed his hand and reluctantly went out of the room. Blaise watched her glide away, wondering how she could pretend that nothing drastic happened between them. She was treating their little affair as if it were just a game of tiddlywinks instead of a hard snogging in the bathroom stall. He couldn't get it out of his mind. He could imagine her pressed up against him, kissing him, touching him. Merlin…if only Draco didn't exist… But we will discuss Pansy's dilemma and feelings at another time.

Meanwhile…

"I told you that you weren't strong enough," Blaise scolded after Pansy had left. "I told you. I told you. And you didn't listening to me…_again_."

"Damn it, Blaise, I think I can see that. Merlin, you love rubbing it in my face, don't you?" Draco snapped.

Silence thickened between the two boys who glared at each other. "How'd it happen? What happened?" Blaise demanded.

Draco didn't speak. He knew he couldn't say anything about Hermione; he promised her he wouldn't and for once, he actually wanted to keep a promise. And he couldn't tell him about the kiss that he shared with the Mudblood. He couldn't possible explain that he was enjoying hanging around her, and that that kiss was one of the best damn things he had felt in a long time, if only his mind would just leave him alone for a sodding moment.

"Well?" Blaise waited for an answer.

It's our little secret, Hermione… 

"I just tried to do something with my powers. It was too much. I caught fire," he replied lamely.

"You caught fire," Blaise repeated skeptically.

"No, I just made it up so I could come and lounge around in the hospital wing. I suppose it's the hospital food they serve us: rubbery and tasteless," Draco replied sarcastically.

"I leave you alone for a week and you go nuts. It's a good thing it was only for a week, otherwise you might have set the whole school on fire," Blaise derided, ignoring Draco's sarcasm. "How could you set yourself on fire? What were you _doing_? Someone could have seen you! _Did_ anyone see you? Someone has to wonder how you lit yourself on fire. How are you going to explain this?"

"What is this, 20 questions?" Draco snarled, now royally irritated with Blaise's behavior. "What the hell is your problem? If it's anyone who should have a stick up his ass it'd be me cause I've been stuck in this castle with that mudblood for a whole damn week while you've been out partying and getting drunk and what looks like getting lucky with some birds."

"What?" Blaise asked, his face paling.

Draco pointed at his shirt, "On your collar, there's some lipstick on it. What's wrong, Blaise? You look like you're about to be sick."

Blaise sat down in a chair near Draco's bed and rubbed his eyes, taking in a deep breath. Draco couldn't possible know. "It's nothing. I'm just wiped out from winter break."

"Yeah, I can see that," Draco chuckled. Blaise gave a feeble attempt to grin.

"So any news? Did he tell us anything?" Draco questioned.

Blaise looked around, whispering under his breath, "You know we're not allowed to talk about it."

"It's ok. I've had Silencing spells up ever since I ended up here," Draco smirked. "I'm asking because Flint visited me early during the break. He was saying that the Dark Lord is going to be having another meeting soon, of course, involving me and my duties."

Draco looked out the window, watching the snow that had begun to fall. He could still hear her voice whispering as he laid burnt on the bed, "_Look, Draco! It's finally snowing!"_

Merlin, her voice was so beautiful sometimes. A part of him wished she were sitting near him again, talking about needless things, but trying to pass the time, help him forget the pain. He hoped she was all right, hoped that Weasley wasn't hassling her. _Dumb weasel, he sure screwed up…_he thought and then, _No! You promised you wouldn't think of her like that. Knock it off!_

Resting his head back on his pillow he mumbled, "If you're not going to say anything, then go and get cleaned up; You look like shit."

Blaise chuckled, stood up, said that he'd check up on him later, and left him alone.

Draco never once took his eyes off the falling snowflakes; he could almost see her outlined figure pointing at the window, almost…just like he could almost taste her lips against his, just like he could feel her fingers gently touching him, just like he could recall her looking at him when they lied in his bed, never thinking of what got them in that position and never truly caring, but just enjoying the calming sensation of having someone who knew exactly what he were going through.

The thought of returning to the normal way of things sadden Draco. But then again, now that his friends were here, maybe it wouldn't be too difficult. She'd be off with those losers she called friends, and he'd be off with his. And the death glares and death threats would start all over again. But Draco tried not to think about the next day when school would resume. He thought of that one moment, that one moment where it truly become winter, when the snow first fell, and how his chest burned not from the aftermath of the fire, but by the gentle, innocent, meaningless words that she spoke to him, "Look, Draco…!"

He liked how she said his name.

:-:-:-:-:-:-:-:-:-:-:

"Hi, Hermione," Ron said, his eyes continuously flickering between her face and the ground. Her mouth went dry. She looked around. Ginny was nearby, enthusiastically hugging her beau. Hermione couldn't remember his name, nor did she care to remember; the little red head would probably get a new one over the next week or two. If there was one thing that she disliked about Ginny, it was how she went through guys faster than a smoker with a pack of cigarettes.

"Hello…Ron," she said at last, the words coming out easier than she had predicted.

"Did you have a good break?" he asked nervously. Small talk…they were back to small talk. It was good start, but when juxtaposed to everything they had had together, it was just pitiful. Baby steps, really, that's all this was: baby steps back to the big picture.

"Yes. It was fine," she replied. She didn't want to talk to him any longer. Not just yet. She felt uncomfortable being around him because she could still picture him with Lavender, kissing in the corridor. She turned to Harry, smiling gently, "You guys should probably head up to the castle. It's getting late, not to mention I'm sure you're tired. Hagrid said that it's supposed to snow really hard tonight."

"It's been snowing like mad at the Burrow. I wish you could have been there with us, Hermione," Harry said. He smiled gently. He understood the uneasiness between the previous couple. "Come on, Ron. Grab the bags and let's get up to the castle. We'll see you around, right Hermione?"

"Of course. Just need to herd the rest of the kids into the carriages."

"It's amazing," Ron commented and she automatically looked over at her ex whose eyes were transfixed on the castle they called their second home. "Do you guys remember seven years ago, when we got off the train for the first time, we went by boat to the castle. I wish we could go on them again. It'd be a nice blast to the past."

"Yeah. That's when everything really began. Well, not really. It was until the troll incident that everything _truly_ began," Harry replied, looking over at Hermione who grinned.

"Yes, our friendship that was sealed and built on a lie," she laughed. "But I'm glad I did."

The trio stood together, and Hermione couldn't feel but at home as she had to tilt her head to look up at her boys. Yes, _her_ boys. Not Lavender's, not Ginny's, not any other female in Hogwarts, but hers, Hermione's. A brief sentimental feeling overwhelmed her and she grabbed both boys and brought them into a hug. People would say that Hermione was being incredibly emotional, grabbing her two friends so physically. But Hermione was a smart girl. She knew that after Hogwarts, they could drift apart in an instant. Course, they would write to each other, a brief owl visit at Christmas and possibly on birthdays. But when thrown into a whole other world, a world of work and jobs and families, it was easily possible that they would drift apart, if they weren't lost in the war that would take place sooner or later…she tried not to think about it, and so she took this one moment, this one moment that might never reoccur in the future, and she embraced her friends, this moment of who they were, and she embraced it and held onto it, whispering, "I'm glad you're back."

"Me too, Hermione," the two boys said at different times, their words overlapping each other's. It was a brief hug before they broke apart because the boys were still uncomfortable with such sudden displays of affection, especially in public. Hermione gave Harry a smile, and couldn't help but lessen it into a grin when she looked at Ron. Ron, noticing the change, returned the grin with the same sad, disappointed look. He quickly turned and went to one of the floating carriages.

Harry grabbed her arm, looking at her and asking, "You feeling alright, Hermione?"

She knew he was specifically asking her how she was handling being around Ron. And she didn't quite know. She had wanted to be angry at Ron, so angry that she'd throw a tantrum at the mere sight of him. She wanted him to say or do something and give her an excuse to throw something at him, cast a hex on him. She wanted to give him the cold shoulder, make him miserable, regret every touch, ever second he had kissed and held Lavender. And then somewhere along the line, somewhere between the time when she decided to be mean and when she actually saw him, her anger faded away. Don't underestimate her. She still was upset with what Ron did. But she didn't want to needlessly drain herself emotionally by thinking about it, not to mention that the whole scenario with Draco kept her busy. And maybe that was another reason why she lessened her hate towards Ron: her odd relationship with Draco.

"I'm fine, Harry," she responded, although her voice shook, and she was slightly startled by it. Then again, she had been petrified of seeing Ron again after winter break. What had happened before couldn't be explained and forgiven in a letter. They would have to talk about it, and that idea cause another wave of uneasiness. But that quivering in her voice was not due to future things to come – there would be plenty of quivering and tearing for that – this quivering was due to the aftershock of the pent up fear she had built for over a week. And now that that moment was gone and didn't require the use of that fear, she felt drain and found it hard to control her voice. She breathed deeply, clearing her throat.

"I had no idea – " Harry began but Hermione shook her head.

"It's fine, Harry. I'm fine. Everything's fine."

"If you ever want to talk…" he said, trailing off, but never ceasing in looking at her. She smiled at him and embraced him, glad to have a friend.

"Thank you Harry. I'm so glad your back."

His heart soared, and Harry thought it would leap out of his mouth and into the air and burst into a million pieces, that soaring feeling that was almost equivocal to when Hermione was kissing Draco not even 24 hours ago.

:-:-:-:-:-:-:-:-:-:

**A/N:** Good news still: grades are up! I'm passing all my classes. Yeah:does a Scottish jig: Bad News: I'm having a hard time in connecting the chapters and storyline to this story. But I'd hate to disappoint all of you, and I'm going to try and pick up the pace. I know it's been well over a month since I last updated, but in my own defense, I've been waiting for other authors to update for about six months now…so at least I'm not that terrible. School is coming to a close in the last quarter, the problem is the frantic race to the end meaning lots of projects, lots of get-togethers with friends who are leaving for college, and trying to do everything else under the sun at the same time. O.o My life is a nuthouse run by squirrels.

So give my troubled mine some peace and leave me a review on what you thought on this chapter. It was interesting to hear your thoughts on the 4th film. I didn't like it the first time I saw it, but the second time wasn't as bad. I think I was expecting too much, and I was viewing it as if I had never read the books before. I thought a lot of the scenes were choppy, the acting was a little better – still not overly impressed compared to other films, but I'm not disregarding the movie on that little whim – and the special effects were good. I was upset a little by some of the things that they added in for Hollywood type of spice, but I was glad they had some of the highlights. I have to say though that Mad-Eye Moody was a disappointment for me. I think it was the eye: it looked fake compared to everything else. Maybe it's just me, but I imagined his eye to be IN his socket, not popping out like that. Again, not enough Quidditch for my Quidditch-craving needs. And I didn't like how they made Krum kind of…crummy. Yes, out loud I know that can be a pun, and a really cheesy joke, but there's no other word I could describe it; they portrayed him as a Slavic cold brute that went around scowling all the time, and I'm getting sick of those stereotypical representations. Not to mention that the lack of Rita Skeeter disappointed me: I actually was looking forward to having someone to really hate in the movie. I did like the entrance of the schools though. The thumping of the wooden staffs was really brilliant. The dancing at the Yule Ball was excellent, and the dance lessons were hilarious (I was ecstatic to see they kept George's – or was it Fred's? – little Yule Ball proposal to Angelina). Of course, I think the main thing that irritated me was how they portrayed Dumbledore; to me, he seemed really out of character, yelling and grabbing onto Harry so violently. But it is after all a movie made for those who've read the books and like to actually watch the imagination on screen instead of in their head. So thumbs up for the movie in general and now I'm wondering how the Order of the Phoenix will turn out. Well, that's my thoughts on the movie. I did like it though, so please don't yell at me if you thought the movie was rock-your-socks-in-all-direction-brilliant.


	15. Belonging Somewhere

**FORGIVE ME!!!! **I'm terribly sorry, and I'm sure you're exhausted from my excuses. Therefore, I shall again throw myself at your feet, tell you that I re-wrote this THREE times, and changed the ending about four times, and that it's extra long to make up for my…geesh, six + months since last updating::: giggles nervously :::

Thanks for waiting…?

::: dodges rotten fruit thrown at her :::

* * *

**Cry Me Tears of Fire**

Pensive Puddles

* * *

School picked itself right back up from where it last stopped so quickly that students wondered whether winter break had actually taken place. Hermione and Draco for sure knew it did.

The Head girl sat in Potions class, finding it incredibly difficult to concentrate with Draco Malfoy sitting only two tables away. Draco had remained in the hospital wing for an extra day, receiving his schoolwork through fellow Slytherin friends. Rumor had it that Malfoy wasn't released because he was well, but because the nurse couldn't stand his complaining…and had also accused him of the mysterious fire to her favorite novel. The first part was understandable; the latter only proved that the old nurse was reaching the end of her rope.

Of course, Hermione knew better and couldn't help but chuckle.

She found herself doodling on a scroll neatly covered in notes and instructions she reserved for Potions class. These were the times she wished she knew how to draw abstract, pretty pictures. But Hermione wasn't an artist. She didn't know how to draw, unless they were mathematical diagrams that involved protractors, compasses, and straightedges.

However, the only reason why she took this moment to curse her parents for not passing on any artistic genes to her was to take her mind off a certain feeling that happened at a certain moment during a certain winter break. Her stomach turned rather pleasantly as she remembered, and she bit her lip to keep from smiling at recalling the kiss. She couldn't believe she had kissed him. She should have been disgusted. Repulsed. Damned herself to the hottest pit of hell.

But strangely, the thing that should have been one of the most nauseating things to do with her school arch nemesis wasn't quite as revolting as she would have thought it to be. In fact, she actually hoped it would happen again – minus the whole bursting into flames part.

She wasn't supposed to like kissing Draco (then again, she wasn't supposed to enjoy his company either). Hermione had determined that she wasn't going to be another one of those girls who had been marked by Draco. She knew, or at least could guess rather correctly, the amount of and which girls had slept or had had some affair with Draco. Hogwarts wasn't the safe, child-like innocent school she had thought it was when she was young. It never had been. She had only realized it as she had gotten older. There were darker themes and thoughts and feelings inside the warm, cheery school. And now with the morbid threats of war and death that overshadowed them, Hogwarts tried hard to retain the sense of home it once had. War can never keep anything the same. Draco couldn't keep anything the same.

Well, maybe his hatred towards Harry and Ron he could keep. That had constantly increased as the years passed by. But Hermione now couldn't say that it was the same towards her, nor could she say that she hated him as much either. The past winter break showed something rather remarkable in him. He had changed. She knew he had changed, but didn't realize how changed he had become. He carried around him the same superior flair Pansy carried around her. But while Pansy's was rather obnoxious, Draco's was so natural that there were times that Hermione did question her inferiority. She hated him for it.

Yet he had treated her differently over the break. Not on the same level as him, of course, but she wasn't as low as she once had been. And that realization brought another wave of the fuzzy feelings that she had felt more often after their moment on the rooftop.

A pale movement caught her eye and she turned her head slightly to look at him. He had flipped his hair out of his eyes, quill scribbling easily and quickly across the paper. Pansy leaned over to whisper something in his ear and he turned his head towards her, reaching across and brushing his fingers against the small of her back, whispering something back and grinning. No, it was a smile. It was so gentle, so sincere, like the smiles Blaise gave Pansy. A pang of jealously twisted in her gut and she suddenly had this desire to take her cauldron of hot, bubbling concoction of…something…and douse it all over the pretty blond who was now brushing a lock of Draco's hair away from his face, before sneaking a quick kiss while the Professor's back was turned. _Choke her…must resist!_ Hermione ordered herself, while sitting on her heads and envisioning horrible deaths for the beautiful Slytherin girl. _Damn viper…_

"Hermione," Harry whispered. Hermione, startled out of her thoughts, jolted slightly as Harry laid his hand on her arm. He raised his eyebrows, "Are you alright?"

"What? Oh, I'm just really tired. Couldn't fall asleep," Hermione replied, rubbing her eyes and looking down at her paper. "What are we doing?"

Harry looked at her in concern. She gave a tired, but warm smile and said, "Harry, I'm fine. Really, I am."

"If you say so," Harry said, returning to cutting what looked like to be a tongue.

"Harry, those are too big," Hermione remarked, "They need to be half that size, otherwise they won't dissolve in the potion."

"That's my Hermione," Harry taunted playfully, "I was beginning to worry that I'd actually start to understand and do things right in Potions."

She swatted at his arm. "I hate it when you say those types of things; it makes me feel so mean."

"I hate it when you respond like that; it takes all the fun out of taunting you," Harry said and Hermione giggled lightly, quickly muffling it as Snape looked over in their direction with a scowl.

"Hey, you guys have an extra Snotsiberries? Dean ate some of ours," Ron scowled at Dean.

"What? They've got a nice kick to 'em. And gives you nice breath," Dean said, and proceeded to breathe on their faces so that they could smell his breath.

"You ate them?!" Hermione screeched. Everyone in the potions room stopped and looked at Hermione, whose face had gone drastically pale. "Dean, Snotsiberries are poisonous!"

"No, they're not. My grandmum puts them in my tea when I'm sick; clears up the senesces," he said, while looking down at the few berries remaining in his hand, a look of doubt stretching across his face.

"Dean, those are Sno-_zie_-berries that you can eat, not Sno-_tsi_-berries!" Hermione said, her voice raising an octave. There was a thick moment of deadly silence, all eyes on the boy who had stopped chewing the berries in his mouth. Finally, the frozen scene shattered as Dean's eyes bulged from their sockets. He flung the remaining berries on the table, as if touching them would leave burns. Already his skin was turning an odd shade of blue and sweat broke out over his brow. He started to cough and heave. His palms were so sweaty that when he held onto the table for support, he lost his grip and slipped off, landing on the ground, convulsing. Hermione screamed.

"Damn it, Thomas!" Snape yelled, rushing over to the boy. The greasy professor glared and roared at Ron, "AND YOU JUST WATCHED HIM EAT THE BERRIES?! DID IT _EVER_ ENTER YOUR _RUDIMENTARY_ BRAIN THAT WHATEVER WE USE IN THIS CLASS IS UNEATABLE? 50 POINTS FROM GRYFFINDOR FOR MISCONDUCT AND SHEER STUPIDTY!"

No one, for once, argued with the professor.

Hermione was slightly awed while watching Snape handle Dean so delicately. He felt his forehead, checked his pulse, muttering comments and calculations to himself. And then she was appalled to hear him muttering off a hurried little song. Concentrating on what he was singing, she caught the last parts of, "..if these poisons be the case, then the bezoar is a waste."

Merlin, did Dean just eat something that couldn't be saved by bezoars?

"Here, professor," Draco said, hand stretched out with two bezoars in one palm and a tiny bottle labeled 'Polyjuice Potion' in his other. Snape looked at what was held out to him before smirking and giving Draco a proud look. Then he snatched one of the shriveled, kidney-resembling stones and shoved it roughly into Dean's mouth before forcing him to chug the Polyjuice down as well.

Dean struggled and began to chock. Harry and Ron took a step forward to help their friend, and Hermione immediately assumed (correctly, too) that they were thinking that Snape and Draco were doing more harm than good. The boys (and Hermione as well) were surprised at her strength, as she grabbed them by their collars and yanked them back; they could only trust the professor…and make his life hell if he failed.

White froth speckled Dean's lips and his eyes dilated. His hands twitched and he made small, straining noises as he tried to breathe. "Early dismissal. Do not be late for your next class," Snape replied while pulling a levitated Dean behind him. The students piled out of the door, as they watched their professor sprint down the hall.

"I didn't know Snape could run that fast," someone muttered in the background, breaking the terrifying silence. Apparently, someone smacked him, for he gave a sharp yelp, "What was that for?"

The class went back into the room, gathering their things and cleaning their tables. No one touched Ron's table, and Ron sat in his chair completely shocked. Hermione, her bag already packed, went over and placed, cautiously, a hand on Ron's arm. She blinked as she looked at his face; she still wasn't used to it. Whereas before she could tell what he was feeling, she had no idea what was going on inside of him. He was no longer the open book he once was. "Ron…"

"I killed him. I killed him, Hermione," he croaked, his voice cracking. "Dean, he said, he said that, he said that the berries were good in tea. He tried to make me eat one, and I said I didn't believe him. I thought he was lying. I thought they were poisonous. So he said he'd prove it to me, so he popped a whole handful of them in his mouth and smiled. Merlin, I should have stopped him. But I didn't know. I didn't know."

Overcome with pity for her distraught friend, Hermione pulled him into a comforting hug. He shook in her arms. "Merlin," he whispered hoarsely into her shoulder, "Dean's dead. And I killed him!"

"Thomas isn't going to die," a deep voice said in the suffocating silence.

"What?" Hermione heard Harry reply to Malfoy. Ron pulled away from her so he could look at Malfoy, but he did not loosen his grip around her. Her skin shivered pleasantly as his arms wrapped around his waist. It felt so familiar; she hadn't realized how much she had missed his touch.

Now it may seem strange for Hermione to feel this way, but think of it this way: Hermione had liked Ron for four years. Feelings inspired by the attack on an overgrown troll that developed into loving ones were hard to completely throw away. He was her first love, and those are always hard to simply drop and get over. It seemed so silly to throw away her relationship with Ron just because of a silly kiss with a dramatic flirt.

But it wasn't the kiss that prevented her from forgiving him and jumping back into his arms. It was the fact that he hadn't even apologized for what he had done. The closest he had come to apologizing was to say that they 'needed to talk'. He had had multiple chances of pulling her aside to say he was sorry for what he done and give the full details and try and prove his innocence – or stupidity. But each time she had found herself alone with him, or secluded with him, she was always sorely disappointed that he didn't grab her arm and insist on talking to her. It made her feel as if he didn't love her as she loved him.

Hermione looked up, finally noticing the pair of piercing gray eyes that were fixed on her. A small voice whispered in her ear, "Why do you still let him use you?" She averted her eyes from Draco.

She didn't know if he had telepathically talked to her or if it was her own mind, but either way, a feeling of awkwardness of being wrapped in Ron's arms overcame her and she gently took his hands off her hips.

Ron, hurt by having Hermione pull away from him, responded to Draco, "You mean, the bezoar, it'll save him?"

"No, that won't save him," the blond said, shaking his head. "Neither will the polyjuice."

In a flash, Harry was over by Malfoy, hands gripping the collar of Draco's neat shirt, and he snarled in his face, "Don't fuck around, Malfoy. This isn't funny."

"Do you hear me laughing, Potter?" Draco snapped right back, and suddenly jabbed his hands upward, hitting Harry hard and sharp in the armpits, striking a nerve. Harry gasped painfully and let go of Malfoy who stood and dusted himself off, smoothly composing himself, all the while continuing, "Potter, if you'd let me finish my sentence, then we could avoid these little rows we tend to get ourselves into."

Smoothing his shirt a final time and giving Harry one last nasty look, he continued, "If you can recall from first year (I know it's hard for you, Potter, but please, do try), Professor Snape said that bezoars can protect a person from _most_ poisons. Unfortunately for Dean, snotsiberries don't fall under the bezoars protection. But the combination of a bezoar and polyjuice potion stops the poison from traveling to the heart. Basically, Dean is in a comatose state until a cure is found."

"And if there isn't one?" a girl said quietly from the hushed crowd.

Malfoy merely blinked, and a shuddering breath rippled through the room. Hermione stared at Draco, marveled at his quick thinking. He fastened his eyes with her, and she looked away when Ron moved her out of his sight. She looked up to see Ron glaring at Malfoy. He obviously didn't like the connection between the pompous prick and his ex-girlfriend. When Hermione next looked at Draco, he was surrounded by his Slytherin friends in a tight circle. Through the cracks between bodies, Hermione could see him arguing with one of the boys and then she saw him clasp a hand around the boy's throat, shaking him, obviously threatening him. It might have been a question of loyalty. Were some Slytherins so evil that they would get on Draco's case for saving a Gryffindor during Potions? Were people already calculating how to destroy the other side? She usually would have assumed that Draco was head of that. But Draco was no longer the immature boy who had yelled that 'Mudbloods would be next' during the Chamber of Secrets fiasco. Draco was poised, shrewd, and dangerous.

Overhead, the bell rang. Students left the room for their next class, all the while talking about the incident that had taken place merely moments before. Ron slowly gathered his things, still in a state of shock. "Ron," Hermione said gently, "It'll be ok. You'll see."

Ron's eyes moved and locked with hers. She braced herself for a wave of emotion to envelope her. Usually, a look like that would melt her heart and she would find herself smiling giddily back. But surprisingly, she found the pull not as strong. The familiar burst of pleasure and love only seemed to crackle and quickly die away to a sympathetic, friendly feeling.

She rubbed his arm soothingly and turned around, holding her books to her chest. She looked at the doorway and stopped suddenly, seeing Draco staring at her. His face was void of emotion, or else he tried to hide it. She wondered what was going on through his head at that moment. She offered him a brief smile, which he didn't return for the beautiful, full-figure blond linked her arm with his and pulled him away. Blaise followed right behind, but unlike Pansy, he took the time to see what Draco was staring at and found himself looking at Hermione. Hermione brushed by him, pretending nothing had happened, but she could feel his dark eyes following her as she went up the steps that led away from the dungeon. She didn't feel safe until she was up in one of the high towers of the castle for her next class, yet still she could feel his questioning, wondering gaze.

The next few days passed by uneventfully. A cure was found for Dean, although he was still in critical condition. The nurse said he'd be stuck in the hospital wing for at least two weeks before he was allowed to roam around the castle. Dean made people promise to visit him and to also bring him lots of chocolates and other tasty treats. The twins, having heard from their siblings about Dean's close-call, sent him a toilet seat, which everyone signed when they visited him, and a box of little knickknacks to keep him entertained. The twins also sent him a book to pass the time, "Life Saving Spells for Dummies."

The atmosphere around the students relaxed once Dean was able to move around and laugh and joke. People soon felt free to tease him and offered him handfuls of berries, in which he'd scowl and then laugh, badgering himself on his own stupidity. Even Snape made a joke in Potions class, warning the students to avoid the urge to eat anything in his class. It probably wasn't meant as a joke, but the students found it funny, and the professor didn't dock any points for laughter.

Hermione noticed that Draco had avoided her since winter break had ended. It saddened her, but she did have Ron and Harry to keep her occupied, just like Draco had Blaise and Pansy. She could count on her fingers how many times a day she saw him. She'd see him in classes, although she'd never see him on the rounds around the school because they'd traveled different routes. She always left for breakfast before he even woke up, and she'd always be doing homework in her room or sleeping on the couch when he'd come into the common room. But she knew that he saw her, for once or twice, she'd find herself covered in a blanket when she woke up the next morning on the couch after her nap turned into a deep sleep.

* * *

The next incident was when she was at the Quidditch pitch, watching her friends practice. She used to hate the sport, but years of having friends who talked nonstop about it and having to attend all their games for emotional support had finally caused the sport to grow on her. In fact, she found it soothing to watch her boys fly around the field. She watched as Harry helped get the team into action, criticizing and encouraging them on their flying and teamwork since Ron was silent; Harry made a good leader. He should have been the Quidditch captain, but Ron… Hermione clenched her fists: sometimes Ron infuriated her with his immaturity. Sure Harry had a lot of the things Ron had always wanted and never received: popularity, money, better grades. But he lost so much for something he didn't even want. Selfish Ron, selfish, selfish Ron. She watched Harry. He needed to trim his hair; he kept flipping it out of his face. Maybe she'd cut it for him later.

And sometimes her eye would wander over to her ex, surprised at the lack of feelings she held towards him. As time past, her love was waning. It wasn't as painful to look at him. She no longer pictured Lavender wrapped around him. But she still waited for him to say he was sorry. Waiting, waiting, waiting…all fruitless. She needed to stop, to just let it go. And then she'd say to herself, "Maybe tomorrow…"

Sometimes it made her heart heavy when she remembered that he used to be hers. And somehow, it was easier to let him go with his new face. It was like looking at another person. Even when he smiled at her and waved from the field, when she could see his face, it didn't hurt at much because the face smiling at her wasn't the Ron she knew. It was only when he talked and was himself that she felt sad at what she had lost.

She sneezed and shivered as another windy blast hit her. The sky that had been clear moments before had darkened with heavy gray clouds. As she looked up and admired them, her mind quickly connected the color of the clouds to Draco's eyes. She shook her head, returning to her book. She had made a copy of Draco's old Dark Magic volume and now felt at liberty to mark and add notes to the margins of the pages. Snow began to fall, wetting one of the pages and she quickly closed the book and put it safely into the folds of her cloak.

"We're about done," Harry said out of nowhere, and Hermione looked at her friend who hovered in the air. "You shouldn't have stayed out this long, Herms. Not with that cold of yours."

Hermione smiled at his concern. He had grown a lot more affectionate lately. It was charming. He told her that they'd be off in the field in fifteen minuets; Ron wanted to go over their practice and have a quick group talk, then they – the classic trio – could go to the kitchen and get a hot drink. She liked that idea. Promising that she'd wait for them, she gathered her things and walked towards the exit.

Walking down the halls of the field pitch, she took her time looking at pictures she never really noticed before. Some pictures were quite old, but all of them moved. Some of the faces she recognized. She came across ones with Bill and Charlie in them. She was startled to come across one with the Marauders in it. They looked so young, so happy. She wiped her eyes at the thought of the fate of those young boys in the portrait. Now Moony was the only one left – Wormtail didn't count as one; he was traitor and he was forever shunned. No, the Marauders were Moony, Prongs, and Padfoot, no more, no less.

She stopped looking when a dark voice murmured close behind her, "Well, well, well, a lone Gryffindor, eh?"

Whirling around, Hermione stared at three Slytherin boys, all on the Slytherin Quidditch team. She recognized the shortest of the three as Tony, the Keeper. Tony was known for having a hot temper, his father being Italian and his mother being Irish. And he loathed Hermione. Early this year, Hermione had caught him beating up – rather badly – a 2nd year, who supposedly owed him money. Hermione had put him and his two friends in binding charms when they came to attack her, keep her silent about the whole deal. Tony had been suspended for a week and had been on the professors watch-list ever since. It wasn't a good year for the sixth year boy. "How've you been, Hermione?" he asked. "I haven't seen you much around."

And even when caught in a rather frightening situation involving three huge thugs, Hermione's sharp brain was actually taking the time to contemplate whether 'much around' was grammatically correct. The more she thought about it, the more confused she became. She then began to chuckle at her own silliness for thinking of grammar at a time like this.

Tony scowled, his face darkening, "What's so funny? Think it's funny, the way I talk?"

Hermione's smile disappeared in an instant. Tony turned his head slightly to one of the boys, but kept his eyes, however, on Hermione. "I think Hermione here needs a little lesson, don't you agree, Elliot?"

Elliot nodded his head, a dark smirk forming across his face that caused her stomach to twist uneasily. She pulled her wand out, and found her wrist twisted awkwardly, forcing her to release her weapon. She looked up at Buddy, Tony's second bodyguard, who blankly stared at her. Distracted, Elliot quickly tied a rag around her mouth, stifling her screech. Hermione felt as if she were trapped in The Godfather.

"Tsk, tsk, Hermione. Bringing a wand to a fist fight," Tony sad, mocking pity. Elliot and Buddy each held on of her arms, pinning her to the wall. Tony walked close, lowering his head and smelling her hair. "Hm, you smell good today, Hermione."

Tony reached up and played with a lock of her hair. "Now, what fun little game shall we play while Potter and Weasley are locked in the locker room? They won't be getting out any time soon, and no one else is around. Imagine the possibilities, my little Hermione."

He leaned down to kiss her and Hermione head-butted him, hearing a crunch as her skull collided with his nose. She saw stars. Tony yelped and cursed, covering his nose. Hermione was pleased to see blood dripping from under his palms. She heard a quick popping noise, as Tony realigned it. Standing upright, a dark fire in his eyes, he wiped the blood from under his nose, rubbing it between his fingers and then on Buddy's clothes. He raised his hand to slap her, "You filthy, little bitch – "

"Tony!" a voice barked sharply. Hermione opened her eyes; she hadn't realized she had closed them. Draco stood in the hall, his broom in one hand. Hermione had never felt more relieved to see Draco than at that moment. His stance allowed him to appear cool and calm, but Hermione could see in his pale eyes the fire that burned whenever he was incredibly incensed. He glared coldly at Tony, his voice promising pain, "Let her go."

"She broke my nose!" Tony snarled, taking a step towards Draco. "And after that stunt she pulled on me at the beginning of the year – No, it's my turn now. You back off, Malfoy or I'll –"

How Draco covered the distance between him and Tony in (literally) the blink of the eye was mind-boggling. All Hermione heard was a sharp punch, a soft crunch, and then Tony thudding on the ground. "Damn it, Malfoy! My nose!"

"You dumbass, do you have any idea what you could have caused? Assaulting Potter's girlfriend? This time tomorrow you would have already been buried six feet under," Draco growled, kicking him in the side. He coughed and groaned and then he looked up at Draco who glared down at him menacingly and snarled, "I'll talk to _you_ later."

No longer was Tony's visage hard and mean. Now he cowered pathetically at the blonde's feet. Draco's air of superiority certainly came in handy sometimes.

"Corbett, Brady, get him out of here before I loose my temper. Be out on the field for practice in five minuets or I swear to Merlin…" Draco threatened. Elliot and Buddy grabbed Tony under the arms and half carried, half dragged him away.

Draco turned to her, and helped her untie the cloth they had tightly double-knotted around her head. "Did they hurt you?" he asked quietly.

"No," she whispered, her voice shaking. She cleared her throat. She didn't want to think of what could have possibly happened if Draco hadn't had stepped in when he did.

"I'll make sure they never come near you again," he said, it almost sounded like a promise. He was near to her; she could smell his cologne. She looked up at him, finding him staring down at her intently, "Thank you, Draco."

He carefully looked around, while whispering, "Careful."

She blushed at her own stupidity. She couldn't be on first name bases with him in public. He could get into trouble. He could loose face in his house, and if that happened, Tony might not run away next time. "Sorry," she whispered.

"We'll call this even. Ok? I saved Thomas; you keep this quiet," he negotiated. Hermione opened her mouth in outrage. He quickly continued, "I'll have Tony watched. If I hear or even see him looking at you in a way I don't like, I'll cut his balls off. Fair?"

She smiled at his expression. But she knew she could trust him. She knew the rich Head had connections throughout the castles: house elves, paintings, students of all ages, the works. She nodded.

He grunted in confirmation before picking up his broom and walking in the other direction. "I have questions about the book," she called, wanting to continue talking to him, keep whatever was left from winter break.

He turned, looking around again. Glancing at her with his pale eyes, he replied, "Later. Common Room."

She nodded and watched him head towards the field for practice, the warm feeling enveloping her again. She didn't know how long she had stood there looking at the corner that Draco had disappeared around. Harry and Ron found her shortly after and escorted her to the kitchen, asking her where she got the red bump on her head from and why she was so pale. Hermione shrugged off their concerns and instead asked them about the upcoming game.

If Hermione had walked around the corner Draco had disappeared around, she would have seen him resting against the wall, his hands in his face, wondering how he was going to make it through a conversation with her alone without kissing her.

He would never know how much she wished he would.

* * *

"He's not strong enough, my lord," a figure said behind a skull mask.

A scaly white hand appeared out of no where, colliding against the Death Eater's face so hard that the mask flew off. The victim gave a shrill scream of pain and crumbled to the floor. "You vex me, Bellatrix. Do you dare question my choice of heir?" the Dark Lord hissed.

"No, Master. Never. I'm greatly honored that you chose my nephew," Bellatrix responded, bowing low.

The Dark Lord turned to her, pulling back his hood to reveal his ghastly face. His red eyes lightened maliciously and his nose crinkled as he grinned, revealing his uneven teeth. "You're becoming old, Bellatrix; it's so easy to hack into your mind now. You wonder why you weren't the chosen one? You're just as youthful; in fact, you have more power, strength, and wisdom in witchcraft and evil that Draco could ever achieve of knowing. You know my mind better than any other in our society. Isn't that true?"

She didn't speak. He pulled her hair back by her hair, hissing in her face, "Isn't that true, Bella? Answer me when I ask you a question!"

"Yes!" she snapped, her own face twisting in anger. "Why wasn't I the chosen one? He's an arrogant little brat. He doesn't support the cause like I do. He hasn't given up anything. He's been spoiled his whole life and knows nothing of our cause. He doesn't understand all that's involved, doesn't understand what will happen if we fail."

"You think we shall fail, Bella?"

"I think we will if he's left to lead. He has no idea what we're doing. He's just like his father: hides behind money and won't suffer for the cause. Not like I have! I _deserve_ this title," she seethed. The Dark Lord looked down at her, his hand still pulling her head back tightly, and he ran a finger across her jaw.

"My little Bella. I remember you when you were a teenager; so young, so deadly, like a viper snake. Not much has changed," he said, releasing her and letting her fall to the ground. She resisted the urge to rub her scalp. "You see Bella, I'm not choosing the person who has the most points in this little war. I'm choosing him because he stands for all that I've lost: wealth, beauty, pride, and power. Upon my death, my powers, and also my plans, will transfer into him. Besides, Bella, he'll be educated; he'd have finished Hogwarts unlike you."

"Education has little meaning in the real world," Bellatrix remarked, getting to her feet and pulling her hood over her had again.

The Dark Lord looked at her and she lowered her head, avoiding his dark gaze. "I'm sorry, Master. Forgive me for doubting your plans."

"That's better," he said, fixing her mask onto her face, smirking. Bella shivered underneath her robe. "So you think he's not strong enough, Bella?"

"It's one thing to control an Element, sire. But we need Draco to master all four in order to open the seal. From what I've heard, he hasn't been progressing as much as we hoped. The ritual failed."

Bellatrix fell to the ground, convulsing. The Dark Lord raised his wand, releasing her from his spell. "You know I hate Crucioing you, Bella, but these skeptical comments…" he murmured, and after a pause, continued on as if nothing had happened. "The ritual did not fail. It wasn't only meant to in store great power. It was to mark him as my heir. Now he is magically bonded to me. He is slowly receiving my powers, at least, those that I'm allowing him to receive. With him having the magical strength that I have, he shall be able to defeat Potter. I'm old, Bella. The potion's strength wanes. But Draco, he is still young, and he will carry on my legacy and plans."

"How do you know he won't go his own route when you die, Master?"

"Because, dear Bellatrix, I shall incarnate into him." The Dark Lord smirked as Bellatrix's face twisted into a look of horror. "Ancient magic. I've been studying more since my downfall. I shan't be undermined by it again."

"But my lord! The last one who attempted it – "

"Annihilated a third of the wizard population, I know. The curse will not inflict others like it did last time. Drefyus did not have the Seal opened when he attempted it. With the seal, I will be given unimaginable powers. I will move mountains with a simple flick of my hand, as if swatting a spider thread. And my loyal followers, I shall give great power as well, and even…"

The Dark Lord turned towards Bellatrix whose eyes watered in joy at the thought of her master becoming so great. He waved his hand over her and she felt an odd sensation ripple over her. Waving a mirror out of thin air, Bellatrix gasped as she looked at a gorgeous woman posed in the mirror. She touched her face, watching in glee as the reflection copied her actions. The Dark Lord stood next to her, running a hand down her side, whispering in her ear, "You'll be what you've always wanted to be, what your sister always was, what should have been yours all along."

"I'll be beautiful," Bellatrix whispered, gazing longingly at her reflection. "More beautiful than Narcissa ever was."

The Dark Lord left Bellatrix, and taking the image of her soon-to-be self. He savored the disappointment in her face and watched her fade back into the lines of Death Eaters. "Flint," he barked and a figure floated out from amongst the group. "Inform Draco that he will meet us at the cave at the next Hogsmeade break...And give him a test. I want a full report on his progress."

"As you wish, my lord," Flint responded, bowing low before Apparating away.

"Don't disappoint me, Draco," the scaly man said before he began to crackle, sending a series of cold shivers through everyone in the room.

* * *

The Great Hall was noisy as the students laughed and complained about school work, teachers, and how far away spring break seemed to be. Hermione sat in her same seat: squeezed tightly between her two tall boys, Harry and Ron. Ginny sat next to Harry and they were reminiscing about some great prank that Fred and George had pulled on Bill while he was sleeping and how it went wrong. Hermione could barely gather them talking, but from what she could overhear, the twins had apparently lit his bed on fire by accident and had almost set him on fire as well.

Hermione snorted into her mug of coco as Ginny reenacted Bill's girly screaming. Harry turned to look at her, smiling. "You should have been there, Hermione," he said.

She nodded. "Yeah, I wish I had."

"Oh well. Don't worry, we'll do something ten times crazier next time we do a get-together at Ron's. Right, mate?" Harry said.

"You bet. It wasn't the same without our little Hermione there," Ron said, smiling and winking at Hermione.

Automatically, Hermione blushed. She missed these times, these moments of affection from Ron. She didn't know what his intentions were behind them: if they were the same, if he was sorry for what he had done and was trying to break the ice, or if maybe, it was a habit he had picked up from hanging around Fred and George for so long.

"By the way, I don't know if I said this yet, but I like that sweater on you," Harry said, smiling.

"Yeah, thanks. A charming and devilishly good-looking bloke got it for me for Christmas. I forgot to thank him," she replied, leaning in and giving Harry a sweet side hug which was greatly returned. His cologne filled her nostrils. She loved how Harry smelled: homey and sweet. Quite opposite of Draco who smelled clean and sharp…

Hermione smiled a little while remember how close he had leaned in to untie the gag around her mouth. Even though she had been overwhelmed by the shocking incident that had taken place in the Quidditch halls, she still was conscious enough to notice the clean Quidditch jersey that framed his body, the dark green somehow contrasting nicely against his pale complexion and blond hair. And even in a jersey, he still smelled so good, so sharp, so Malfoy like. She liked how Malfoy smelled. It was the same scent as when she slept in his bed that one night when he had woken up, petrified and half crazed.

Merlin, that seemed forever ago.

Winter break seemed forever ago, and it saddened her. It meant half the year was over and she would have to return home to gather her belongings from the house she had grown up in for so long that now lacked one parent. It meant she would have to associate herself full time into the Order. It meant that sometime next year, these friendly faces full of life might be hauled away in a body bag. It meant that she and Draco would forever be separated, and those moments would stay in that short winter break they had shared.

Her eyes automatically traveled to the Slytherin table, and she watched him talk casually to Blaise, his plate untouched before him. He hadn't been eating lately. As if sensing her gaze, he looked over at her, and she savored the look. His eyes recognized her and his face almost relaxed. Almost. Her lips automatically twittered up into a grin and he blinked, looking away. But Hermione caught that small little moment where his lip turned up as well, and she caught the feeling of her stomach flipping when he grinned.

She didn't catch Blaise's sharp eyes observing the affair.

An owl flew through under the enchanted ceiling and soared over the Gryffindor table. Heads turned to see where the owl landed, a flash of disappointment crossing their faces as the bird passed them and kept flying overhead. The bird pulled back and landed in front of Ron, one leg in Hermione's food, the other held out and waiting to have the letter untied from him. Remarking how clumsy the birds were getting, Ron untied the letter while Hermione gave the bird a treat from the meal it had stepped in before it flew away. Ron opened the letter and read the first line with a quizzical brow before turning to Hermione and saying, "It's for you."

Hermione took it, surprised at receiving a letter. She unfolded the note and her face fell. It was from her father. He was asking how her break went and how he wished she had come home. _Why? You obviously didn't think it was something special to come back to_, she scoffed angrily. The letter shortly addressed that her father was well and how he had gotten a little flat in downtown London. He was hoping that she would come and spend spring break with him and his new…

Her face paled drastically at what her father wrote. Girlfriend? Already? He had barely gotten out of the house and he already had a girlfriend who was living with him?

"Hermione, are you ok?" Harry said, who was intently watching her face.

She blinked rapidly, pushing back the tears, and shoved the letter deep inside her pocket. Grabbing her stuff, she said quietly, "Yeah, I'm fine. I just remember an important essay for McGonagol's class that's due tomorrow morning. Haven't even started. See you, Harry."

"Hermione?" she heard Ron call as she trotted out of the Hall. But she ignored him and right when the Great Hall door closed behind her, she was sprinting down the halls, ignoring the ghosts that told her to slow down.

Tears rolled down her eyes, but she didn't make a sound until she was safe inside her Common Room. This was where she broke down and released ghastly sobs. She pulled the letter out, reading it again and again. Why was this troubling her so much? She knew that her parents were going to see other people after they had gotten a divorce. She knew there was the odd possibility of having future step-siblings and step-parents.

_But so soon…?_

She was being replaced again. She was too boring and ugly for Ron. Lavender fixed that. She was too brainy and a hindrance to her father's fun lifestyle. His new, young girlfriend fixed that.

She knew it was silly to think this way. Her father might have just been lonely and wanted love. But at the same time, he had given up his marriage of twenty years for that. However, Hermione knew the real reason for her anger and sadness: her father had gotten over the divorce and had moved on, faster than Hermione. Hermione had barely grasped the concept of what was happening when her father was packing up his stuff quickly and quietly. She couldn't grasp the concept as she watched him drive away, a small trailer hooked to his car, toting all his things away and out of her life. She couldn't grasp the concept when she walked into her parents room and only saw her mother, the scent of her father fading as the weeks passed before disappearing all together. It seemed that her father had gone on a long vacation. And sometimes the letters filled with child-support and a letter to her along with a schedule of visiting hours would awaken her and remind her of the bitter truth. And then school started and she was whisked away, away from the half empty house, the fatherless house, the broken house.

She had seen her mother crying in the kitchen sometimes, holding onto some artifact that her father had forgotten to taken. They hadn't moved on. They were far from moving on.

And her father was already living the life he had always wanted, the life that didn't involve his teenage witch daughter and his wife. No, he now lived a life in the heart of the thriving metropolis with his girlfriend cuddled close to him in his bed at night.

Hermione looked at the clock. Dinner was going to be over soon. Draco would hang out with some friends for a few minutes before he'd come back to the common room. And then they would finally have their talk.

The idea of seeing and talking to Draco was comforting and her spirits lifted. She settled herself on the couch, taking out her homework that she really had forgotten to do and waited patiently for Draco to come back, her heart temporarily beating away her grief and replacing with this new feeling she kept receiving when she thought of him.

* * *

Draco watched Hermione run out of the Great Hall. He watched the handsome red head stand to his feet, calling after her and he instantly glared at him. He really did not like Weasley, or his new face, or the look he had when he looked at Hermione. Draco wasn't like most guys. He was very observant and could see things that most people didn't. Even from where he was sitting, he could see that Ron still held some affection towards Hermione. It was how he gazed at her retreating figure. It was how he moved towards the door to follow her, only stopped when Potter reached up and shook his head, telling him to leave her alone. Draco knew that Potter believed Hermione needed time to herself. But Draco knew better. He knew that Hermione needed someone. All girls needed someone when they were deeply troubled; someone who would soothe them and kiss away their tears and stroke their back calmingly and slate their need for love.

He knew how girls worked: they needed to be loved and their grief would be postponed.

But Draco Malfoy didn't know how Hermione worked. And he wasn't going to go and follow her and pull the same moves on her like he did on other heartbroken girls because, well, it was Hermione.

No, he didn't want to follow her and meet her in the common room because then he'd walk through the steps, using what friendship they had built to manipulate her to succumb to him. He would go to her and he would see she was troubled. She'd say she wouldn't want to talk about it, and he would say that he can see through her lies. He would reach out and touch her shoulder and quietly ask her to tell him. And they always crumble at the touch, the look, the slight sense of interest and care in the voice. Crumble crumble crumble. And he would embrace her and hold her trembling body and he would stroke her hair and smell her. She had such a lovely scent.

And then he would wipe her tears away and she'd look up at him, look at him with those muddy eyes and he would lean down and he would take her. Take her like he had wanted to take her for so long…

He swallowed hard, grabbing for his drink and chugging it down. He breathed deeply. _This_ was why he didn't want to be around her. She had no idea how she affected him. He didn't know if he could keep himself controlled. In the hallway early that day, gagged and scared, needing a hero to save her and untie her, feel her hot, uneven breath on his face as she tried to calm herself down from Tony's assault…Draco had never been more turned on before.

"Draco, are you ok, baby?" Pansy asked, touching his knee. Draco was almost startled to see her. He patted her hand, standing up, "I'm fine."

He later found himself walking through the halls, winding his way to his common room. And as he neared the door, he reminded himself of what laid behind the door: Hermione.

He turned on his heel and left, walking frenzied down the hall, looking for some place to console himself with his twisted thoughts. He found his spot in a large, leather armchair in the corner of the library. Pulling a book required for Advanced Potions out of his bag, he began to read, studying for their surprise test tomorrow; Snape always told the Slytherins when they'd have a test, just to have an excuse to yell at everyone else for not paying attention in class, even if they hadn't gone over it at all. But even as he studied the concoctions, instructions, and explanations, his mind kept thinking of her.

Merlin, she was driving him nuts! What was wrong with him? Why couldn't he stop picturing himself with her, especially in bed? It was humiliating. He noticed he was watching her more often now, but in a different way. It was more than how he usually would observe her. He liked watching her because she was fascinating. She was odd. But she was still Granger, friend of Potter, a Muggle-born witch, and all that he stood against. Three big strikes against her, and yet he found himself pulling towards her like a moth to a flame. But why was she so bright? Why did he find himself unable to pull away?

Because she wasn't doing it on purpose. It was just who she was.

And then after spending break with her, having conversations with her, taking her to places, getting her drunk, getting a quick lap dance from her, sleeping in the same bed with her, kissing her, things like that certainly altered his thoughts of her. He no longer found her fascinating; he found her addicting. And when she was around other guys, he couldn't help but feel jealous. Sometimes he'd see Edward talking to her, and it would irritate him to no end, especially when she'd laugh at something he said. She looked like she enjoyed talking to him, as if what he said was immensely interesting. He sometimes wished he could talk to her and receive that same interest. He'd see her male partner in Potions lean in and brush her arm and he wanted to hit him. They had no right to touch her. She wasn't like other girls. She carried a sense of purity that they would only defile. They couldn't touch her because he had already claimed her as his.

Draco stood abruptly to his feet and left the library. He claimed her? What ever gave his subconscious mind the authority to claim a Mudblood? He needed to get her out of his head. Fast. He decided to visit Blaise, go sneak back some of the Christmas present he gave him. He walked through the Slytherin common house, nodding at those who were worthy of his time, ignoring those who were just trying to pretend they were one of his friends. He smirked at some of the pretty girls who brushed by him, running their fingers over his hand; he loved being beautiful. It was a rather long journey to get from the entrance to Blaise's door: the comments, the attempts to lure him into a conversation…

Draco sighed as he closed the door. Now…some of that whiskey…

He heard the clanking of glass bottles, something trip and stumble, and a whispered, "Shit!"

Draco walked towards Blaise's closet and called, "Pansy?"

"Draco!" Pansy said, standing up with a bottle of Blaise's alcohol in her hands. In one hand, she held her shoe with its broken heel. Draco nodded towards the bottle in her hand and she looked at it and back at him before shrugging, "Butterbeer just doesn't cut it."

Draco chuckled. She came over to him, sitting on Blaise's clean bed, remarking as she opened the bottle, "How does he keep his section so clean? Look at it! It's completely spotless."

"The only organized one of us three," Draco remarked, sitting next to her on the bed and reached to grab the bottle. She pulled it away, a teasing smile on her face. She shook her head, and took a long drink. She winced and shook her head, licking her lips.

Draco reached for it and took it from her hands, taking a longer drink. He sighed. Yes, drown those pesky Hermione memories away…except the drink reminded him of her eyes…He noticed Pansy's hand slip over and grab for the bottle, but he quickly pulled it away, hiding it from her. She giggled and reached around him for it, but he continually moved it just out of her reach. "Draco!" she said in mock frustration. "Give me it!"

He merely chuckled and continued to pull it out of her reach. She finally lunged at him, tackling him, and spilled a little of it on Blaise's bed. She cursed and laughed at their little game. She was now on top of him, the bottle in easy reach of her. She reached for it, leaning in down to let her hair graze against his face, her perfume linger over his nose. She took a sip, looking down at Draco who was watching her. She smiled and leaned down and slowly kissed him, her hand running down his arm.

She waited for him to respond, and was pleased to feel his hand tighten around her leg. She kissed harder, excited that she got a reaction from him. She touched him in ways she knew he enjoyed and he played with her in ways he knew thrilled her. "Oh Draco," she moaned as he flipped her over and lightly bit her neck.

And then he froze and she cursed herself for saying anything.

He started to pull away and she whispered, hoping that maybe he'd listen, "No, I'm sorry. I won't say anything. Please don't stop."

But he was done. He had lost all interest. Draco sat on the end of the bed, head in his hands. Strangely, he felt guilty, as if he were betraying Hermione. It was as if he was Ron, and Pansy was Lavender, and he was hurting Hermione all over again. He thought himself silly for placing himself in such a role because he had no affiliation with Hermione. But that feeling…

He didn't want to be here alone in the dormitories with Pansy. The more she grabbed at his shirt, running her hands along his forearms, the more he became repulsed at where he found himself. He didn't know where he wanted to be…just anywhere but here.

He didn't want to kiss Pansy. She wasn't the one he wanted to kiss, to get that fire from. He had tried to be so careful lately to keep Pansy at a safe distance, for her sake. He didn't love her and he didn't want to do anything that gave that impression. He didn't know who he loved, if he was even in love at all.

And when he'd question himself like that, that similar feeling when he thought of Hermione overwhelmed him and he found himself getting off the bed, walking towards the door and away from the situation that had crushed Hermione. Merlin! He wasn't even dating the fuzzball and he was reacting as if they were in a serious, committed relationship. What was wrong with him?!

"Draco!" Pansy called desperately.

"I'm sorry, Pansy. I can't," he said and closed the door behind him.

* * *

As Draco walked restlessly down the halls, Pansy curled on Blaise's bed and softly began to cry. Why didn't he love her? She's always loved him, ever since her coming-of-age party. She remembered her dress was pink and very sparkly. Her parents had paid a fortune. Anything for daddy's little girl. Blaise and Draco were there as well, forced to come by their parents. They spent most of the time tearing up pieces of napkins, rolling them into little balls and throwing them into people's hair, giggling uproariously when they'd get caught unknowingly in the victim's hair. Draco was as snobby as ever, but not as cold. His hair was slicked black, practically white when contrasted against his black suit. He had a darling little red bowtie and his shoes were black and brightly polished.

He had danced with her – forced by his parents – and he was as stiff as a board. They had known each other since they were toddlers, but this was the first time they had seen each other dressed up. He had been remarkably quiet and very uncomfortable.

"He never complimented me on my dress," Pansy remarked between her tears. Blaise had come closest to a compliment by saying, "You look like a pink marshmallow."

"Who never complimented you?" a deep voice questioned while closing the door behind him. Pansy looked through teary eyes, faintly distinguishing Blaise. She sat up, wiping the residue of her makeup away. Blaise leaned against the door, a look of concern on his face, but cautious not to make a sudden move that may upset her. He radiated comfort and shelter, and Pansy wanted it. She needed him to take care of her like he always had, nurse the wounds Draco inflicted upon her. Even when she was a kid, Blaise had always taken care of her. Once, when Blaise's parents were babysitting her for the night because her parents were going out of town for a conference, a fierce thunderstorm came over the house. Pansy had sat up crying, frightened of the hissing lightening that would beat against the windows, and the roaring winds that would rattle the windows, trying to let the thunder into her room. Blaise, hearing her cries over the storm, came to her rescue, sitting in her bed and holding her hand, a trick his mother had taught him.

"Blaise…" she said, holding up her arms.

And because he loved her so, and knowing that a simply touch by him would renew all the damage that Draco had caused, he walked towards her and held her gently in his arms, petting her hair and shushing her as she cried quietly into his chest. It was almost peaceful, her in his arms. It was almost romantic how she pulled away and looked at him with a look of desire. It was almost heart-stopping how she leaned up and captured his lips with his. It was almost his dream when she whispered in his ear to love her, and had his hand pull at her blouse.

He stopped.

"No," he said roughly. "I'm not going to be used by you, Pansy."

"I'm not using you, I – "

"What the hell do you call this?" he yelled, getting off the bed. "Merlin, you're so damn selfish! You can't sleep with someone just to make yourself feel better when you've been turned down. Why do you base yourself on how he treats you? I don't understand you, Pansy.

"You _know_ how I feel about you. And you used that to manipulate me, all because you were rejected by Draco. Do you enjoy playing with me? Do you like teasing me, watching me respond to you, and see me shatter after you pull yourself away? How can you use me like that…?"

She grabbed for his hand, putting it against her face and whispered, "I'm sorry. I'm so sorry, Blaise."

They stayed like that for a moment or two, his hand cupped against her check, her hand pressing it closer to her face, her thumb rubbing his skin. He never took his eyes off her; he couldn't. She reached up again, asking for a hug. He wanted to be strong. He wanted to turn away and leave. He wanted to escape from her intoxicating presence. And yet he found himself again in her arms, holding her, listening to her repeated apologizes, each one breaking his heart.

_Tell me you love me. Just say that you love you. Say it, Pansy, please…_

They were lying on his bed now, she cuddled to his chest, her eyes closed, tired from emotional stress and from crying. He watched her, seeing her breaths deepening as she grew more tired and tired. It startled him when she whispered, "I just want to be loved."

He looked at her: eyes closed, dark lashes magnified with makeup, lips slightly parted, blond strands of hair hanging gracefully over her face. He brushed them away, and whispered back, "You are."

But Pansy was asleep, and she never heard a word he said.

* * *

Draco was tired. He had walked by the same painting three times, and three times the painting had made a rather rude face in his direction. _Damn Gryffindor paintings_, he scowled.

He looked at his watch, estimating that she would be in bed by now. He felt a small pang of guilt as he remembered that he was supposed to meet with her to discuss the book. But for the sake of both of them, he cancelled. Getting into the common room, he stayed in the shadows, hoping that if she were up, she wouldn't notice his presence. He spotted her lying on the couch and went towards her, automatically reaching for the blanket folded across the back and draping it over her. Her hand was hanging off the edge of the couch, and a folded piece of paper laid beneath it. He reached down and skimmed the letter, a look of pity on his face.

"I'm sorry, Hermione," he said quietly, placing the letter on the nearby table.

"It's not important anyway," came a little, tried voice from the sleeping figure. Draco froze as she opened her eyes, and he was trapped by those amber eyes, shattered by all that had happened that day. He felt pulled towards her, an invisible force pushing him slowly in her direction. She reached up and gently took his hand, lightly pulling him towards her, down to her. Somehow, he found himself wedged in the couch, cradling a small girl in his arms. She breathed deeply and snuggled close to his chest, one arm pressed against her chest and the other hooked around his waist, her head resting on his arm. And as he held her, lightly rubbing small circles on her side, he breathed her in and closed his eyes.

This was where he belonged. This was where he wanted to be. And he stayed there all night.


	16. Wish For

:-:-:-:-:-:-:

**Cry Me Tears of Fire**

_By Pensive Puddles_

:-:-:-:-:-:-:

I would like to say that love sprang upon both Hermione and Draco so rapidly that they scarce knew when it happened or how. I would like to say that they spent many nights cuddling on the couch, enjoying the silence they created, watching the fire glow. I would like to say that Draco became a new man, that Hermione expressed something in her that made her friends curious of the change. But sadly, I cannot; for those stories rarely happen. Well, not immediately anyway.

Draco awoke the next morning, pressed against the back of the couch, his arm resting on the cold part of the cushion, vacant from the feminine body that had previously lied on it. He stretched, eyes still heavy with sleep and body stiff from being squeezed between the soft padding and Hermione. He looked around for her, but didn't see or hear her presence. His heart fell slightly. He had hoped that he would wake up with her next to him again, just like on the last day of winter break. He had hoped he would lace fingers with her again, and feel her breathe into his chest, and this time he would be the one who asked how she was doing and say that he wasn't sure if he was supposed to leave or what. And she would be the one who would admit the truth and say that she was grateful for his presence and glad that he had stayed.

And ask to do it again that night as well…

But he ignored that last thought that flew through his head. Getting off the couch and focusing on the day, he got ready for school. Nothing had happened, that's all he had to think: nothing had happened between them.

Oh, how he wished something would.

:-:-:-:-:-:-:

"End of this week."

"What?" Draco questioned, startled from his thoughts.

"You wanted to know when, and I just told you. End of this week," Blaise replied, buttering a roll. He observed Draco, watching his every move. "Are you ok? You've been acting odd lately."

"What? Oh, I just got into a little row with Pansy yesterday, that's all. Feel bad," Draco replied off-handedly, making it sound as if the incident with Pansy was as irritating as being unable to complete an arithmetic problem. Blaise gripped the butter knife all the harder. What did she see in _him_?

Draco's flickering eyes caught Blaise's attention. The blond Slytherin lowered his eyes, going back to playing with his food. Blaise tried to see who his friend was looking at, but with the amount of people in the Great Hall, it could have been anyone. "Draco, who were –"

"Hey baby," Pansy cooed, sitting on his other side, leaning in and kissing Draco on the cheek. Draco merely turned his head slightly, receiving the affection. He was so lost in his thoughts that Blaise knew that if Goyle had been the one kissing him, he wouldn't have noticed the difference. Blaise wasn't the only one who noticed the oblivious state Draco was in.

However, his two friends let it go and continued on with breakfast, talking about unimportant things that Draco didn't bother listening to. He didn't eat; he wasn't hungry. He was so bewildered by his thoughts that he couldn't focus on anything. He hadn't even realized he had taken out his lighter to do little fire tricks until Pansy spilt water on his sleeve.

"What the hell?" he said, too dazed to be angry.

"Damn it, Draco. You need to be more careful. You just lit your sleeve on fire!" Pansy hissed, taking her wand out and drying the spot on his arm. She looked up at him, waiting for a reaction, waiting to see a trace of her lover. All he said was, "Oh."

Blaise watched as Pansy's eyes betrayed her crestfallen heart. He watched as her movements became stiffer. He watched as she composed herself. He listened to her words that became harder, trying to keep a mere tremor from betraying how she truly felt. "You've found another girl, haven't you?" she whispered.

"What?" said Draco, now listening. Her eyes continued to betray her sorrow.

"You've found another girl. Don't lie to me, Draco," she said hard but quietly, not wanting to cause a scene, "You're always like this when you've found a girl you're interested in. You become distant and you don't hear anything that goes on around you. Is that why you pushed me away last night?"

Blaise heard it then, in that last comment: the slight tremor, so small that no one would have noticed if they hadn't been paying attention. His heart broke like hers. _This is how I feel, Pansy, just like this…_

"I like her?" he repeated, dazed, his eyes a whirlwind of thoughts, his mind computing something different to what was being said. Blaise couldn't understand why he was acting like this. Draco almost always knew. This was the first time that a girl had caught him by surprise in his affections.

"Who is it, Draco?" Pansy asked quietly, watching his eyes, waiting for him to look at the girl who had taken him from her.

"Who's who? There's no one, Pansy," Draco said after a pause, returning to his drink and looking down at the table.

"Then kiss me," she said. Both Blaise and Draco stared at her.

Draco titled his head, almost grinning, not sure if he had heard correctly. "What?"

"You heard me: kiss me," she challenged.

"You want me to kiss you? What difference does that make?" he questioned, avoiding the action.

"Everything," she said, eyes still focused hard on Draco, denying the urge to glance at Blaise.

Draco looked at her, studying her face, her eyes. He could kiss her. He had kissed her nonchalantly a thousand times before. He had slept with her just because she had asked. What did one little kiss matter? And as he leaned in, he found himself stopping.

Somehow, it _did_ matter. He couldn't kiss Pansy, not in front of _her_. He couldn't.

"No. Not this time," he said, pulling away, hands clenched on the table.

"Just like always. You can never kiss me when you have another girl," she said darkly, almost bitterly.

"And what does it matter if I like someone else? It's not as if you haven't done the same to me. Stop acting as if I'm cheating on you. We're not even together," he hissed, getting to his feet and storming out of the hall. Pansy was left sitting at the table, eyes glassy with tears. Surrounding Slytherins slid a cheeky glance at her, whispering to each other about the brawl the Slytherin couple had had.

"Poor Princess Pansy, couldn't keep her screws in order and now has lost the only one worth keeping," one of the girls a couple seats away taunted cruelly.

"You shouldn't get into the affairs of others, slut. For all you know, you're boyfriend might suddenly receive an anonymous tip that his girlfriend got knocked up by his best friend," Pansy remarked icily, her eyes glaring darkly. The girl paled drastically as her boyfriend sitting next to her let go of her hand and gave her an appalled look, so filled with pain and anger that Pansy might have felt a twinge of pity at her words. Nonetheless, Pansy smirked as she watched the slut's boyfriend, jaw clenching, stand to his feet and follow Draco's path.

"Pansy!" Blaise warned under his breath. He grabbed her by her elbow and lifted her up. He escorted her out of the Great Hall, giving a sharp look to the other remaining Slytherins to shut up. It wasn't until they were safely in Slytherin corridors that he spoke to her again. "Why can't you control yourself? In front of the whole Slytherin table, Pansy? Merlin!"

"Control myself? The whore needs to know when to keep her mouth shut!"

"Why not practice what you preach, eh?"

Pansy slapped him hard across the face. She breathed heavily, tears trickling down the side of her face. A dark moment passed before Blaise looked at her again, the left side of his face a blazing bright red with finger outlines. "I'm sorry, Pansy. I didn't mean – "

"You meant every word," she said between clenched teeth. "Don't apologize for something you're not sorry for."

"That's not true – "

"Liar! Shut up, just shut up!" Pansy screamed, tears blurring her vision. She swung her hands out, beating him on the chest. "Stop lying! I know how you feel. I know that you hate seeing me crumble before him. I know you hate how I love him so much. But you just don't understand. I love him, Blaise, and I can't _stop_. And when I see him fall in love with another girl instead of me…Merlin, what's wrong with me? Why does he never fall in love with me?"

His strong hands had clasped her wrists to stop her hits and he held her as she struggled against him, trying to release her pent up anger, frustration, heartache, until she collapsed against his chest, crying pathetically into his shirt. He didn't say anything; he knew she didn't want to hear it; he knew it would only make her feel worse. Instead, he held her closer, brushing her hair with his hand, cooing into her ear to relax her.

The bell rang and Pansy quickly pulled away, trying to fix her smeared mascara. Taking out her wand, she muttered a spell and Blaise watched as her red, puffy eyes cleared. She wiped her nose and gave him a small little smile. "I'm sorry. I don't mean – "

"Pansy," he said gently, taking her hand and squeezed it. She smiled and gave him a small hug. He was the perfect guy – just not for her.

As the students began to shuffle quickly down the halls, Blaise gripped Pansy's hand a little harder and they moved against the tide. He didn't let her go until they reached their class and he had escorted her to her seat. Giving her hand another little squeeze, he left her side and went to his own assigned seat, his mind reeling with thoughts of Pansy. He knew what he was to her: he was the knight and shinning armor to her fairytale. Only, he wasn't the right knight under all the armor.

_Fairytales suck_, he thought as he sighed heavily, opening his textbook after taking one last glance at his composed Pansy who was slipping a note to her partner. The teacher called for attention and Blaise tried to keep his mind off his crush.

:-:-:-:-:-:-:

Draco spent the rest of the morning completely bewildered by what was said at the breakfast table. He liked Hermione? Could that really be an explanation to all that he was feeling towards her? Was that the reason why his chest burned with such hatred when he saw Tony assaulting her? Was that why he wanted to cut the pervert's balls off anyway -- just because he had touched her, had tried to kiss her? Was that way he burned with such horrible jealously whenever he saw another guy with her? Was that why he yearned to have her next to him, to feel her breathe into him?

But what type of "like" was this? Was this the momentary fascination he had had with previous girls who he had quickly slept with and had lost interest with? Something inside told him that this wasn't like the others. This time…this time he wanted an actual relationship with her.

But why? She wasn't beautiful. No, he had won the hearts of many who could easily have been models. He knew from plenty of interaction with women that Hermione wasn't externally beautiful. She was pretty, sure, but she wasn't beautiful. But when you knew who she was, when you listened to her talk, sentences with such intelligence it was almost unnerving...there was such attraction in that. There are so many things that Draco found in her that were so appealing that I've stated countless of times before that need not be stated again.

He smirked. Well…if he did like her, then that certainly would explain why he found her so intoxicating. But he couldn't. His affiliation with the Dark Lord… what if they found out? What if the Dark Lord had invaded his mind right now and had discovered his secret passion? No, he couldn't let him have her. He wouldn't let Hermione end up like his dream. The mere idea of her in that situation…he knew what they did to women in the circle. He had had to watch one initiation…he had thrown up later. Hermione being one of those unfortunate women? His stomach turned at the thought.

He skipped lunch and went into his room. No, he couldn't tell her. He couldn't tell her he liked her. He couldn't initiate anything. But did she like him? Draco sure as hell wasn't going to go out of his comfort zone to tell her he liked her. He wasn't even supposed to like her anyway! She stood for everything he was supposed to destroy in a few months. How had this happened? How?

He upturned drawers, shelves, boxes and floorboards until he found what he needed: cigarettes. _Always place spares somewhere in case of emergencies_, he quoted to himself He fumbled for his lighter as the cigarette dangled from his bottom lip. "Damn it, light!" he hissed as he flicked it. It was dead. Angry, he threw the lighter across the room, giving an aggravated yell at the same time as it smashed into the wall. "Merlin, calm down, Draco, before you burst into flames again," he mumbled to himself, before snorting at the thought.

This was pathetic. He was pathetic. And for a moment, he was incredibly upset with Hermione Granger for doing this to him. Angry for her doing this to him and not knowing that she was causing it. His eye caught a glittery package resting on his desk dresser. Bright green with a red bow tied around it, he found himself drawn towards it. Who could it be from? How had he not noticed it before?

Picking it up off the table and unwrapping it, he opened up the box and found a beautiful silver lighter inside. There was a folded note inside the box:

_Draco,_

_I saw this and I thought of you. Happy Christmas!_

_Hermione_

Taking the lighter and experimenting with it, Draco grinned. Reaching for the cigarettes again, he chuckled, laughing at the irony. If only she knew…she probably thought he'd use it only for his Dark Magic. He took a deep breath, head resting on his bed, fingering the lighter. He looked at it, playing with it. She thought of him…did it mean that she liked him?

His mind went through all the things that had happened between them. She had been the one to start the friendship between them. She had been the one who had confined in him with her dark secrets. She had been the one who had tempted him to kiss her under the fireworks. She had been the one who had pulled him into the couch with her last night. Did she like him in that way? He didn't want to be sorely mistaken.

He didn't know how long he laid on his bed. All he knew was that when he looked at his ashtray, he found four filters crushed into a sea of ashes. He groaned, laying an arm across his eyes. _Well, that's just great…Damn you, Hermione…_

He glanced at his clock and swore under his breath. Throwing the box of cigarettes into a drawer and tucking the lighter into his pocket, he grabbed his bag filled with his books and wand and left his room, shocked at the fresh scent of the Common Room compared to his smoky room. He bumped into Hermione at the doorway as she was coming in. Colliding heads, the both gave a synchronized yelp and a synchronized motion of rubbing their heads.

"So there you are. I didn't see you at lunch – " she remarked casually as she continued to go into the room.

He turned and looked at her, "You looked for me, did you, Granger?"

"Well, I…" she started, face flushing lightly. She cleared her throat and tried to find something else to talk about, "Ahem, thanks for staying with me last night. Sorry I was so emotional; I just…I don't know…flustered with everything that's been going on, I guess."

"You were there for me that one time. Now we're even," he said after a pause. And while his words said that it was nothing more than to compensate for his own dilemma back at the end of the winter, his eyes and movements betrayed him and revealed that he didn't mind at all. She blushed again, trying to push aside the thoughts in her head that swarmed with the idea of him pressed against her, his body warming her cold one. Something caught her nose. She paused and looked at him, a calculating look on her face, "Have you been smoking, Draco?"

"What?" he said, turning his face away from hers so she wouldn't smell the trace of nicotine in his breath. "No – what the hell, Hermione?!"

Hermione had grabbed his face and had pulled it towards hers. She was so close that he licked his lips unconsciously, taking a breath. She let out a small "Hm," and took a step away, giving him a sad look. "You _have_ been smoking. I can smell it."

He looked at her, unable to answer.

"You can't smoke, Draco," she said, almost urgently.

"Why do you care?" he asked curiously.

"I just do," she said quietly while turning and walking towards the couch. He stood at the doorway in silent surprise. She cared about him, well, at least about him smoking. Nonetheless, her simple words broke through the doubt in his heart and he relaxed a little. It gave him a small sliver of hope. He felt slightly light-headed from all the cigarettes. It had been so long since he had chained smoked. He took one last look at her lying on the couch, a book propped in her hand and her eyes scanning the pages, before he turned and left with a smile on his face.

:-:-:-:-:-:-:-:-:

Thoughts of Hermione filled his head for the rest of the day. Draco couldn't stop. The more he tried to, the worse it got. And the worse it got, the worse he felt. Draco knew that nothing good could possibly come out of a relationship with her. There were so many cons to the situation. One, Hermione might not like him like that at all, and for him to go off and admit his feeling and suffer her laughter…Draco shuddered. Never had that happened to him, and he wasn't going to let Potter's best Mudblood friend have that achievement. Which brought him to reason number two: she was one of Harry's best friends, _and_ the ex-girlfriend of Ronald Weasley. Used goods? Anyone who was connected to a Weasley was garbage. But Draco was willing to allow that little blooper in life slip by. Through the gossip vine in Hogwarts, the two hadn't slept together so technically she was still clean.

Reason number three: if a relationship did blossom and did get serious, Draco would be a hazard to her and she to him. Need he remind himself that he was heir to Voldemort and that he was going to be leading a bunch of Death Eaters who would rape and kill millions of muggles like Hermione? And if the Dark Lord ever did find out about Hermione before Draco took reign…Hermione would die and Draco would suffer the worst tortures ever conceived by the Dark Lord.

No, he couldn't be with her. Even if it so magically happened that she liked him as much as he liked her, he wouldn't allow them that chance. Because giving into that innocent temptation could bring about both their downfalls, but above all, her death, and Draco Malfoy did not want Hermione's death over his head. He would simply kill off these emotions that were raging inside him.

"We never did go over those questions that I had about the book the other day," she said, looking away at remembering what had caused the disturbance. They were about to separate to patrol their designated routes. "Do you want to meet up in the Common Room after this and talk about it?"

"Sure," he said before thinking. He mentally slapped himself in the head for being so careless. Hadn't he said earlier that he'd kill off his emotions towards her? Being with her in such close proximities wasn't going to help the situation. And then she smiled and turned and walked away, and as he watched her stride down the hall, her cloak barely allowing him to see the outline of her frame, he sighed deeply and thought, _Draco, you just keep screwing yourself over for no apparent reason._

:-:-:-:-:-:-:

"This is exhausting," Hermione mumbled to herself, reaching for another piece of sliced apple on the plate that Dobby had brought her. She hated asking him for things, but the little elf had told her it was his pleasure to do 'favors' for the best girl friend of Harry Potter. And when it was put in that way, when it was considered a favor instead of an order, Hermione didn't feel quite as guilty asking Dobby to do things for her, especially when she really craved apples. She crunched down on the slice, licking the juice off her lips. Yes, quite scrumptious indeed.

"What's exhausting?" a voice called from across the room.

"Trying to translate this book. I'm using a translating spell I know, but then trying to understand the structure of the sentences…" Hermione trailed off, setting the book down on her lap and rubbing her eyes. Taking a deep breath and stretching, Hermione held out her plate full of apple slices. "Want one?"

Draco glanced between her and the plate. He watched her tilt her head to the side and give him a look as if saying, "Stop being all high-and-mighty and take a damn slice. I know you want one." So he smirked and took one, sticking it in his mouth so he could untie his tie and unbutton the top buttons of his shirt. He sat back in one of the chairs and put his feet up on the coffee table in front of him.

"Yes, it is exhausting…for weaker minds," Draco commented, finishing the apple.

"Weaker minds?" Hermione remarked in slight outrage.

"Why of course, Hermione," he said, giving her a sly look. "Do you really think that you're mind is superior to mine?"

"I highly doubt that your intelligence possibly surpasses mine. If we're not equally matched – an impossibility, but for arguments sake -- I think N.E.W.T scores will show which of the two of us is more intelligent…meaning me," she ended smugly.

_N.E.W.T. scores prove nothing, especially when all the teachers and the Headmaster favor you,_ said a voice. Her eyes widened. _Yes, Hermione, over here. This is the voice of a devilishly handsome man invading your mind._

"I don't know about handsome, although I'd have to agree with devilish…" she taunted, grinning.

_Oh, stop being so jealous, Hermione. It's quite unflattering in a girl. Unless it's over of me, of course…_

"How did you become telepathic?" she inquired, slightly envious of the talent.

_I have the superior mind, remember?_ He taunted her in her mind, simply to further irritate her. He smirked, knowing he had succeeded. Hermione rolled her eyes and went back to her book. Draco watched her, watching her eat another apple slice. He liked apples.

Leaning over to the plate filled with fruit, he gave a groan of agitation as Hermione pulled the plate away and place it on her lap. She looked over her book, her eyes sparkling. She held out the plate, "Apple slice for book facts."

Usually, he wouldn't have given into the bait. But what the hell, Draco was feeling flirty. He reached for the plate and she pulled it farther away, smiling, "Fact first."

"Fact: I want an apple slice." By the look she gave him, he chuckled and picked the book off her lap, and at the same time, snatched an apple slice off the plate, much to her indignation. Although she tried not to stare as he chewed thoughtfully on the apple, she found it difficult to suppress a smile, as she watched his brow crinkle in concentration, fascinated at the scribbles before him.

Draco began his lesson, pointing at the illustrations in the book. "This is the symbol of the fire element –"

"As if the word 'Fire' subscripted underneath the picture didn't give it away already," Hermione interjected sarcastically.

"Would you like me to explain this to you or not?" Draco snapped, angered at being interrupted and belittled in one breath. Hermione blushed and looked away, grabbing at another apple slice and munching on it quietly. Draco grunted in exasperation; was this really worth an apple slice? He was transfixed as she licked her lips clean from the sticky juice. Oh yes, completely worth it…especially if he could get a taste… He pushed those thoughts aside.

"As I was saying…each element has its own symbol. When you can possess an element, the symbol will engrave itself into your back and will appear while you're using your element – that's how I discovered you were a Controller -- All four symbols combined create the Seal of Elements." Draco paused in his speech and showed Hermione a page in the book. Hermione took it and examined it for the fifth time, this time understanding a little more than she had times before. Trapped in a medallion shaped symbol, all four symbols, each being a beautiful, nymph-like creature, grouped together to create the seal.

To the right was the Water element, embraced by waves of water, threading over and around her body. Her long hair fell over her twisted frame, covering her exposed breasts, and curling around her waist. Her face revealed her tranquil spirit. Water filtered through her fingertips and into the center of the symbol.

Opposing the Water element was Fire. Fire was engulfed in flames, who was firing a blazing arrow to the middle. Her eyes gleamed with a wildness that was both intoxicating and frightening. Her hair was blown by an invisible wind, pulling towards the center. How she positioned herself was rather racy and expressed a sense of shamelessness.

Above both of the Water and the Fire goddesses was Wind. Standing vertically at the top of the seal, ribbons of wind wrapped around the nymph's body, revealing bits and pieces of her thigh and waist and arms, but covering the lower section of her body and her chest. The nymph's hair blew above her, thick curls twisted in wild directions. The windy ribbons passed around her neck and seemed to thread out amongst her hair like tributaries. Her two arms were held outwards as if dropping something and from her open palms was the wind design, flowing from her finger tips and twisting and turning majestically and designed to appear to be flowing to a certain area, which was in the middle of the seal.

The last of the symbols was Earth, who was opposite to Wind. She stood vertically as well, her arms stretched above her head, as if offering something to those above her. Her palms held upward, roots flowed from them, twisting to the middle. Leaves and vines wrapped around her body as well, hugging her exposed beauty, revealing only what she wished to reveal. Earth seemed more modest compared to the others. She appeared older, mature, and wise.

"One does not choose their element, similar to choosing one's own house at Hogwarts. You posses the traits for it or you do not. It's quite rare for a person to naturally posses all four elements. Only those with the power of all four powers can open the Seal. And if you open your mouth one more time, Hermione, I swear I will erase if from you face and I will never tell you anything else about the Elements. And don't you glare at me like that. As I was saying – I said stop glaring! – the Seal is the most powerful thing in this realm of magic.

"Legend has it that it still exists, but scientists say that it was destroyed during the Battle of Ariadne. Of course, that hasn't stopped wizards from trying to find it, naturally. Most of those wizards are usually gold diggers. They have no clue of the amount of power it takes to open it. Most people aren't aware you have to be a Controller in order to open it, and most people lack the strength (mentally and magically) to become a Controller," he finished, snapping the book closed and throwing it on the chair. "And when did you swipe my book, may I ask?"

Hermione, preoccupied with making the last piece of apple last forever, avoided answering his question. She hadn't told Draco that she had duplicated his book; she didn't know how he'd react. Instead, she said, "Pansy was here looking for you. She said it was urgent."

Draco sighed and shrugged it off. "It usually isn't. Blaise will handle it."

"Why do you treat her like that?" she demanded.

"What?" he asked, surprised at her reaction.

She sighed. "You can tell that she loves you. How can you just brush her off like that, especially when you get a new girlfriend?"

"Oh, you pay attention to my love life now?" he snapped, disturbed that she understood his relationship with Pansy so well.

"No," she said cautiously, knowing she had offended him, and continued rather sympathetically, "I hear her crying sometimes in the bathroom. She thinks she's alone…but you're never alone in this school."

"That's why I stay away from her when I can. She depends on me too much. I don't want to give her false hope," he said, not sure how to appropriately respond to her comment.

"Then why do you kiss her?" She sounded as if she were accusing him. He couldn't help but respond defensively, "They mean nothing."

"They can mean everything." And the tone in which she said it intrigued him to ask why. She played with her skirt and answered quietly, "Because a desperate mind can change anything into a beautiful moment."

He noticed her bottom lip tremble before she bit it. He watched her beautiful brown eyes darken in sadness. He knew what she was thinking, or rather, _who_ she was thinking of. "You still think of him, don't you? You still love him."

"No. I've never loved him." She noticed his quizzical look and smiled. "What I mean is, love is too strong of a word to use. Love is supposed to be a strong word, but people have used it to describe the smallest sort of affection. That's not what love original is. Love is…indescribable. I liked him, but I didn't get the chance to discover if I loved him. I miss him though. I really do miss him, but I can't like him like I used to. After a month and a half without a single explanation or an apology? I can't be with a man like that."

"That's a guy for you. What can I say? Some of us are just assholes, especially red-headed ones," he said, trying to lighten the heavy expression on her face.

"That's no excuse," she said, looking him in the eye. It shocked Draco. To see such raw emotion in her eyes, to know that she was opening up to him in such a free way, it made him feel as if she trusted him with her thoughts and feelings. But he knew that wasn't it completely. He was more shocked at his own emotions reacting to hers. The more he listened to her, the more intrigued he became with her. And the more she mentioned Ron and how he broke her heart, the more he considered himself to be the only man who could show her that there were men out in the wizard world who could hold her heart gently and not be as clumsy as that arse had been. It had been a while since someone had spoken and Hermione mumbled quietly, "I'm going to bed."

As she got up and walked past him, Draco reached out and grabbed her arm, stopping her. He didn't know why he had stopped her, and he was surprised at his own answer as he whispered, "Yeah, there is no excuse."

He took the risk of looking up at her and was pleasantly surprised to see her smile. The twisting in his stomach alarmed him, especially when she gave him one last glance before closing the door.

:-:-:-:-:-:-:-:-:-:

Draco found himself chatting with Hermione every night. He couldn't pull himself away from her. If he missed any opportunity talking to her during the day, he'd have a long discussion with her before they went to bed. He found it hard to avoid her, and he didn't mind not avoiding her. Because somehow even those rare moments where he'd bump into her in the hallways or shared a glance with her in the Great Hall brightened his day considerably. He tried not to become careless and obvious with his new interest, and while he succeeded in fooling everyone else, Blaise was the only one who knew Draco was immensely fascinated with a bird.

The more he talked with her, the more he started liking her for her mind. It found it harder to come up with reasons to not like her. The fact that she was a mudblood didn't bother him as much. In fact, it almost intrigued him further because she was so intelligent and passionate and still a mudblood. She was so unexpectedly different. She made him feel good about himself, and that was a feeling that only Blaise and Pansy made him feel. And her eyes were quite pretty…

When he walked into the common room that night, exhausted from hanging out with friends, he found Hermione standing next to one of the large windows, her eyes staring out into the distance, her fingers playing with a letter in her hands. He slowly put down his bag of books and went over to her.

"My dad took me out to the beach once. We bought this huge kite. The tail seemed miles long. It was probably only ten feet though. It was so colorful. I think it was decorated like the sun, the tail being one rainbow ray. We'd let it go till there almost wasn't any string to hold onto. This airplane flew by, and I had almost panicked, thinking that the kite would get sucked into the jet engine of the plane. That was such a great day, just a week before getting my letter to Hogwarts," she said distantly.

He liked listening to her tell stories of her and her parents. Her childhood was very different from his; he had very few enjoyable memories from his childhood, and he couldn't recall ones where his parents were involved. He hadn't minded when he was younger because his was ignorant to the idea of "family time", until he started going to Blaise's family events. Curious as to how her mind worked, Draco asked, "What made you think that?"

She nodded outside "It looks windy enough for a kite."

After a moment of silence, Draco asked quietly, "Who's it from?"

"My mother," she sighed. "She just rambles on about the divorce and about my dad, how he's insensitive about flaunting his new relationship. She talks to me as if I'm her best friend and I can listen to all her troubles. It's like she thinks I'm impartial to this. It's like she forgets that it was my _dad_ who left, not just her husband. And then she's asking me what he's saying about all this and if he even gave a reason to why they divorced…"

She looked at him, pleading for answer. "This is how it's going to be, isn't it? I'm going to be in the middle and they'll play tug and war with me until I completely rip in half…or until a little step-kid pops out…Merlin, I'm sorry. I know you hate hearing this. I need to stop complaining about it. I know other kids have gotten it worse. It's just…you never think it'll happen to _you_. And then when it does…"

Draco took the letter and she watched him. "Anything valuable in this letter?" he asked. She shook her head and gasped as the letter burst into flames. She watched as the fire died and molded into a flickering bloomed flower that was cupped in Draco's hand.

"Make a wish," he said, holding it up to her. She looked at him and automatically grinned back to the small smile on his face. She looked at the beautiful fire flower in his hand and closed her eyes. Then she took a deep breath and blew. The flower flickered and then disappeared, the ashes flying around which were caught as Hermione trapped them and made them swirl a wonderful dance around the room. An invisible force pushed the window open and the ashes somersaulted out and were swept away by the wind outside.

With her eyes still on the ashes that disappeared in the darkness, she whispered quietly, "Thank you, Draco."

"Least I could do, along with this," he said while pulling a package out from behind him. She gasped, her eyes brightening. "Happy Christmas, Hermione. Sorry it's a little late."

"Draco, you didn't," she said, although he could tell she was pleased. She tore away the paper, giving a sharp gasp. In her hands was a beautiful, hardcover copy of _Pride and Prejudice_. She had mentioned earlier in one of their conversations that that was one of her favorite books and that she had left her copy at home; it was beaten up, it was hardly noticeable, but that's what you get when you buy paperback novels. By the texture of the cover and quality of the paper, she could tell it was an expensive book. But Draco was a Malfoy and Malfoys only bought the best in everything, especially when they wanted to impress someone. "Thank you so much, Draco."

He was going to say something witty like, "It's nothing" or "Don't look into it" or even "Girls and their silly romance novels, at least you have better taste than Pansy…" but before he could say anything, she had wrapped her arms around him and was giving him a tight, sincere hug. He blushed, and put his arms around her, and found himself saying, "You're very welcome, Hermione."

She looked up and smiled at him and Draco noticed how close they were. He wanted to kiss her. In fact, damn all logical reasoning, he was going to!

Then there was a peevish tapping on the window and he pulled away from her, much to his dismay and anger. He was going to roast the bird that was interrupting a very climatic moment for him.

"This better be important, or you'll be dinner tomorrow," Draco warned as he untied the note from the owl that seemed indifferent to Draco's threat. However, it was smart enough to fly away after it was free. Draco unrolled it and read the sharp message from Flint who told him to meet him a little outside of Hogsmeade in a couple hours. He swore under his breath.

"What's the matter, Draco?" Hermione asked.

"Nothing. Note from home, that's all," he replied. He ignored her look of doubt. "I'm pretty tired. Think I'll go to bed early."

He knew it was abrupt, but he was troubled. Why did Flint want to meet with him again, and so soon? How was he going to get out of the castle without anyone noticing? As he closed the door around him, he scanned for his only comfort.

He sighed as the lit cigarette glowed as he inhaled. He blew the smoke out the open window. Pulling out the crumpled piece of paper out of his pocket, he read it again. It was probably something about the Dark Lord. His thoughts traveled back to Hermione and how her life was in jeopardy with the upcoming war. She didn't like to see him smoke either…

Draco snuffed it without a second thought.

He looked once more at the paper before transforming it into another fire flower. "Make a wish," he said as he blew it away into the cold night air.

:-:-:-:-:-:-:

A/N:My apologies…there is a very good excuse, but that's all I ever do, isn't it? 

Anywhoo, I would like to thank all you readers from the bottom of my heart and your dedication to reading this fanfic, seeing as my own dedication seems to be waning…!


	17. A Kiss

:-:-:-:-:-:-:

**Cry Me Tears of Fire**

_by Pensive Puddles_

:-:-:-:-:-:-:

He buried his hands deeper into his cloak. It was cold outside, and the evening dampness did not help one bit. He pulled his hood lower and took out the lighter Hermione had given him. He could barely see it in the dark, especially with the overshadowing trees. He flicked the lighter on and off, snapping it shut and snuffing his fire creations when a dark voice spoke out in the darkness, "I could spot you a mile away, Malfoy. You'd have been _Avada_'d by now."

"You'd like that, wouldn't you, Flint?" Draco sneered. Flint gave a dark chuckle and Draco scowled. He didn't like Flint sometimes. No, he never liked Flint. He began to play with his fire again. His watched as Flint lit a cigarette and inhaled, the flame giving a ghastly glow to his features. The glow reached to his eyes, almost completely black by the night.

"You're missing out, Malfoy. Stuck in school," Flint drawled. The sound grated against Draco's nerves and he clutched his lighter tighter. Flint needed no encouragement. He enjoyed hearing himself speak, especially when knowing that he had an audience. "Heard anything amusing in the news, recently? That raiding on that Muggle house, the family completely slaughtered and messages on the wall written in their own blood? Guess who?"

Draco felt sick. How could Flint be proud of that? And to think, there was a whole league of them who all felt proud of horrific slaughters like these and considered them achievements. His face must have revealed his thoughts because Flint teased while flicking his cigarette, "Hey, you getting soft on us, Malfoy?"

"Course not," Draco replied automatically. He resettled his stance, his fingers twirling his wand in his left hand.

Flint looked him up and down, his dark eyes sparkling as he drawled, "It seems you are. People say you've been drifting, beating up on your own – "

"If you're referring to Tony, that boy's a dumbass. If he had actually finished what he had started -- all the Slytherins would have had their balls in a vice. Stupid punk doesn't think at all," growled Draco, taking out his lighter and flicking it in aggravation. Flint merely snorted and continued, "Someone hinted of an infatuation with a mudblood. Is it true, Draco? You've got your eye on a piece of mud?"

"Another brilliant comment of Tony's?" Draco smirked, his eyes lightening dangerously. Flint swallowed nervously. Even though Draco was a couple years younger than him, his imposing stature and air was intimidating, especially with the power he had. He tried not to flinch as Draco let out a coarse laugh, "Don't be absurd, Flint."

Flint laughed with him. "Yeah, you're right. I don't know, with these mudbloods, some of them can be pretty kinky, like that girl of Potter's...you know what I mean?"

Draco's jaw clenched as Flint laughed. He wanted to punch him but it was taking all his control to keep his mouth shut and act as if his remarks didn't bother him. He didn't want to endanger Hermione, and at the same time, he didn't want to hear stupid blokes like Flint talk about her either. She was his, and his only.

Flint noticed Draco's indifference to his comment and he smiled, "You're right. Gross thought. Oh well, we'll see what happens during the war, eh?"

Draco knew what he was referring to. He knew that the war was going to be not only a killing zone, but also a robbing and plundering and ravaging time as well. During ambushes, things would get confusing. It would be easy to slip away. It would be easy to follow a girl down an ally. It would be easy to come up behind her and disarm her and have his way. It would be so easy. Draco could tell by Flint's laugh that his mind was thinking of nasty things, and a twisting in his gut told him that those nasty thoughts were based on images of Hermione. He wished he had left her at the castle that night. He wished he had prevented her from getting drunk. He wished he were with her right now instead of out in the cold of the night with this piece of scum.

Flint only seemed to confirm his thoughts. "Abandon alleyways…who knows what might be lurking in the shadows, eh, Malfoy?"

Merlin, was he really one of _them_?

"Wonder if she'd put up a good fight…" Flint trailed off, his grin growing and his eyes glowing at his own fantasies as he inhaled again. It sickened Draco. _No, I'm not one of them. I'm not going to be one of them_.

_But you are, Draco. You're just like Flint. You just don't reveal your evilness as blatantly as Flint does. But every fiber in your being, every part of your soul, every part of you is a mere reflection of what Flint is. You'll join them, you'll rule them, and you'll ravage just as many girls as they do, girls like Hermione Granger…and you'll smile just like Flint does now._

Draco felt like vomiting, but merely swallowed and demanded gruffly, "What's this all about Flint?"

Flint's smile faded at the tone of Draco's voice. Why was he getting so upset? Why did he have to ruin his fun like that? Sighing, he answered, "We're to have a meeting soon. At your next Hogsmead outing --"

"As if that's unusual," Draco snarled sarcastically. "You could have just sent me a damn note. Merlin, I can't believe you dragged me out of Pansy's bed for this…"

Yes, Draco knew that was a lie. But there were reasons for this behavior. You see, Draco knew a little secret passion of Flint's, and he enjoyed tormenting people, especially those he hated. He savored his silent victory as he heard Flint's voice grow quiet and say darkly, "You were with Pansy?"

Draco continued flicking his lighter, causing a somber glow to lighten his face every time he flicked it open. Then the darkness would consume him when it snapped shut. He flicked it on and left it on a little longer, just so Flint could see his smirk. He was waiting for Flint to explode. He was waiting, just so he could fight him, just so he could give himself an excuse to make Flint's face burst into flames. He hated him. The more he listened to Flint talk, the more he wanted to kill him. He wanted to kill him because killing him would be killing part of what he was supposed to be, what he didn't want to become.

_No, I'm not going to be like him. I refuse to be like him!_ Draco told himself. But he knew that Flint represented only an eighth of the evil that Draco was supposed to become in order to be the Dark Lord. He shuddered, his body literally shaking. How could he become so evil? How could he kill innocent people? _How could I kill Hermione?_

"You think you're something, don't you?" Flint growled. The cigarette quivered in Flint's shaking hand. "Just because he chose _you_ to be the next Dark Lord…just because you can control an Element. Well…there's rumor that there's another Controller, just like you, Malfoy. And if he's stronger than you, then there won't be a need for you any longer."

_They know about Hermione?_ Draco questioned frantically to himself. _Is he bluffing?_

"Then I can kill you, _Master,_" Flint mocked. But Draco's keen observation's skills could see right through Flint. He saw all his weaknesses, all his irritations, all his passions. He knew what he held dear and what he longed for. A dark evil seemed to swell in Draco's stomach. It spread through his chest, making him burn in hate. He wanted to destroy Flint. But Flint was holding himself back. Why?

He didn't want to wait. He wanted to get Flint to succumb to his own hatred and start what they both wanted to happen. Draco concentrated and began to whisper telepathically, _Get angry. He had everything you wanted. He gets everything you never get. Power, riches, Pansy…He'll completely ravage her over and over again –_

Flint screamed and charged at Draco, and the blond smirked as Flint's fist collided against his jaw. Whether or not Flint knew it was Draco who was whispering in his mind didn't matter; Flint was finally giving into his hatred towards Draco. He was tired of Draco getting everything. He was tired of being a Pureblood and still having this little punk and his family sneer down at him. He was tired of having to hold onto his title and reputation when Draco could dragged his through the dirt and clean it right back up with a little money.

He hated how the Dark Lord favored Draco and was giving him power (Flint wasn't aware of the Dark Lord's intent. Only elite members of the Dark Lord's council knew of his plans. The Dark Lord had fixed to so that the lesser members would only selectively hear what he was saying. He could say whatever he wished in front of anyone, but if he only wanted two of the whole multitude to hear, those two would be the only ones to hear). But even if there were another person chosen to be the Dark Lord's heir, Flint would be the first to kill Draco on the battlefield for one reason: Pansy Parkinson.

Flint had technically been betrothed to Pansy. Pansy had never liked him, even when they were wee children. Pansy would have been forced to marry him when she become of age if the Malfoy's hadn't interfered and proposed that Pansy marry Draco instead. The Parkinson's were ecstatic at the idea of their daughter marrying a Malfoy; the Malfoys had a higher status and more money. And so Pansy was given to Draco. Not only that, but Flint also held an obsession over Pansy and Draco knew of it too.

There was a peephole that looked into Pansy's room in the Slytherin girl dormitories. Flint spent a lot of his time looking through it. Once, Draco had walked in on him when he was looking through the hole, his eye fixed on Pansy while she undressed ever so slowly, his hand in his pants. The blond bastard had smirked at him and left. Flint was about ready to leave and see where Malfoy was going, see if he was going to tell the lads of his sick obsession. And then he heard Pansy's voice asking who was knocking on the door and he heard Malfoy's response. He heard the door open. He heard the door close. Immediately, he was on the chair and looking through the peephole again. And he watched, sickened, angry, consumed in lust as Draco made love to her. They were sprawled out in front of him, her hands groping for anything to grab to release this ecstasy that engulfed her. She cried out Draco's name and he told her to scream louder so she did, and the blond had the sick audacity to look up and _smirk_ at him. Flint had left then, Pansy's gasps and cries still echoing in his ears.

Flint grabbed hold of Draco's shirt and repeatedly punched him in the face. Draco heard his jaw shatter. Angry at being overtaken, Draco started to fight back. He grabbed for his wand and shot Flint into a tree. Flint drew his wand and spat out a series of attacks that kept Draco hopping. Draco began to use defensive spells, blocking Flint's attacks. He was saving his energy, waiting for Flint to use most of his up before he attacked. Meanwhile, his Element was healing the broken parts of his jaw. He coughed lightly, black soot leaving his mouth in a small cloud. His strength was getting greater. Soon, he wouldn't cough at all.

Flint noticed. He taunted him. He jeered. Each cuss word boiled Draco's blood. Flint laughed, his eyes wild, "Why don't you prove your strength, Draco? I bet you can't do anything more than light a cigarette with that little fire trick of yours. Sad to think her death only gave you that small amount of power."

Draco froze, his eyes widened. Flint took this time to hit him with a spell in his chest. Draco fell to the earth, his mind locked in the past. _It'll be all over soon_… No! That was over! She was gone. That wasn't his fault. That wasn't his fault!

Something hit him in his head and a series of stars exploded in front of his eyes. Images flashed through his mind. The ceremony. The eerie candles. The chants. The pain. The girl… She seemed to flash between the other memories, and the more he thought about her the more he could see her, and the more he could see her the more she looked like Hermione. And suddenly, it _was_ Hermione crying out and falling off him, naked and dead and being carried out unceremoniously away from him. Her body hung so limply, her hair dragging on the floor, her eyes open and dead and staring right at him…

"_NO_!!!!" bellowed Draco. Flint had resorted back to physically beating Draco. As much damage as a wand could inflict, it wasn't as satisfying as skin punching against skin. Draco had been in a state of shock and hadn't moved for quite some time. His sudden reaction startled Flint. Draco grabbed Flint by his face and Flint screamed in agony as Draco's fiery hands burnt his flesh. They could smell his skin burning. Flint pulled away and Draco rolled to his feet, his eyes dark and evil. "You want me to prove my strength?"

He didn't wait for an answer. With a quick snap of his lighter, Draco held in his hand a blazing sword. The flames flickered off the tip and disappeared into the air. His menacing appearance made Flint fumble for his wand. As Draco ran towards him, ready to swing his sword, Flint yelled out, "_Aquarious_!"

A spout of water flew from the wand and onto the sword. The sword hissed but didn't go out. Draco's eyes glared at Flint dangerously and he smirked. Flint licked his lips cautiously, his face paling. He could _feel_ Draco's power radiate from him. He could almost see this aura around him; it was like a blurry outline along his frame. Flint gave a sharp whistle and several black figures emerged from the trees. Draco turned and looked at all of them, his sword raised. "Destroy him, boys!" Flint yelled.

It was five against one. Draco smirked and beckoned them on. Darkness overwhelmed him and everything smeared into something else. Suddenly, he was back in the dark room where the ceremony took place. The evil spirit that had come for him earlier returned, but this time Draco wasn't afraid of it. This time the spirit seared through him and calmed him. A man appeared before him. His father. And in the darkness of the room, he could see her. She was chained and a man was near her, another man who looked like his father. "You won't touch her!" Draco commanded, his voice low and threatening.

Luicus smirked. "Watch me, boy."

Hermione screamed and Draco's sword began to slash.

Draco woke up on the ground. He could feel blood rolling down the side of his mouth. Parts of his body throbbed in pain. He couldn't remember what happened. He coughed, and grimaced in agony as his side seemed to pulse in pain. "Careful, Malfoy," a voice sneered. "We broke some of your ribs…and some other bones as well."

Loud snickering filled the quiet air. Draco couldn't see them but he knew it was Flint and his cronies. "Interesting show there. I'm sure the Dark Lord will be pleased with your progress, although, you're going to have to control yourself. You burnt Phillips pretty badly. Oh no, don't try moving, Malfoy. Wouldn't want you to further hurt yourself. Merlin, you look like shit. You should clean yourself up, mate."

The group laughed again. "Cheers, _Master_."

There were a series of pops and Draco knew he was alone. As he lied on the ground, he tried to remember what happened. He could only remember the five figures coming at him, wands raised and a series of attacks happening. And then that was it.

He groaned and coughed. His lungs constricted and he wondered if this time he would suffocate. Tighter and tighter the invisible vices closed and he wondered faintly if it were physically possible for his lungs to explode out of his chest. Large cracks reverberated inside his body and he was tempted to look to see if bones were sticking through his skin. The vices around his lungs loosened and he gasped for breath. He breathed heavily and sat up, feeling his ribs. He winced. They hadn't healed yet. His head throbbed. He knew only parts of him were healing. But he was healed enough so that he could barely walk back to the castle. Damn, Flint. Damn him and his gang to hell. And Flint knew Draco wouldn't tell the Dark Lord that he had tried to kill him.

Shakily, he got to his feet and stumbled into the darkness of the trees, tripping over roots and forgotten branches. Pictures from his nightmares mixed with reality. He was delirious as he got back into the Common Room. He was retching by this time. Hermione's door open and he heard her beautiful panicked voice cry shrilly, "Draco!"

He looked up. Hermione was speechless when she saw him. His clothes were torn and covered with smears of mud and bloody patches. A gash from his temple to his chin had caused intricate patterns of blood to form along his face. His left eye was swollen shut and his nose looked broken. His knuckles were split open and the collar of his shirt was ripped and stretched. Through a fat lip, he gasped out, "You're…safe…"

He stumbled forward, about ready to fall. Hermione ran towards him and grabbed him. Putting his arm around her shoulder, she led him to the couch and made him lie down. He began to cough and squirm, curling into a ball (as best as broken ribs could allow him to), holding his stomach. "Draco, stay here. I'm going to go and get the Nurse."

He shook his head feverishly groaned. Through short series of coughing, he explained briefly, "I'm healing. The element…is doing all it…can. Don't…. be alarmed…it's alright."

"Alright?!" she shrieked. "You shouldn't have to look at yourself to know what kind of condition you're in! Draco, what happened?"

He looked at her, his eyes fixed in hers until the pain made him retch and look away. Hermione went to the bathroom and returned with a bucket, a bowl of water, and a towel. She cleaned up his vomit and placed the bucket next to his head in case he needed to throw up again. She gasped as three sharp, loud pops echoed in the room. Draco hissed but then sighed, relaxing into the couch and taking a deep breath. He looked at her and sighed weakly, "Ribs."

He looked over at her after a couple of moments. Tears beaded her eyelashes and as one fell, she quickly reached up and wiped it away. His eyes felt heavy and he relaxed, closing his eyes, his body shivering occasionally as it continued to heal. Something warm and wet rubbed against his face and he flinched.

"Oh, does that still hurt? The gash was gone and I wanted to try and clean the blood off your face," Hermione said quietly. He heard her rinse the washcloth.

"I thought he was going to take you for good this time…" he said, his eyes still closed.

"What?" she asked, confused, her voice still low.

"He was so close. I thought they were going to take you again…" He opened his eyes, staring at the ceiling. He said a little more panicky, "You died. I saw you die. And they were carrying you away. Merlin, you've died so many times. So many times."

"When have I died, Draco?" she asked, realizing he was in a delirious state, just like during winter break.

"Every time I close my eyes," he whispered after a long moment. "Every time. The blood…oh Merlin!"

He began to shudder. "Merlin, make these images stop!"

Hermione lightly grabbed the sides of his face and forced him to look at her. "Draco, look at me. Look at me! I'm right here. You see? It's me, Hermione right here. See? Can't you feel me?" she said, taking one of his hands and placing it on her cheek. "I'm right here."

His eyes darted back and forth. She wasn't sure if he really was seeing her. "Hermione. You really are…" he trailed off. His crazed eyes began to tame themselves and he grinned, the dry blood around his mouth cracking. "You're safe."

Hermione only nodded and rung the washcloth before dapping it alone his face as gently as she could while cleaning away the blood. "It was a meeting, wasn't it?"

"No, just a test of strength," Draco said, not sure why he was telling her this and not really caring. She was safe and that was all that mattered. She would be safe as long as she was near him. He'd protect her. He'd take care of her. Because she was his. Not Weasley's. Not Potter's. Not anyone else. His, and his only.

"Don't lie, Draco," she said sharply. He could see she was shaken up at seeing him like this. "I know you're involved with _him_. Merlin, I wish you wouldn't..."

He watched her, her hands shaking as she cleaned the cloth again and press it against his face. Her eyes were glassy and she blinked numerously to control herself. He reached up and held the hand that was cleaning the blood off his face. "Why do you care so much, Hermione? Why do you care what happens to me?" he asked honestly. Why was she here cleaning his wounds? Why was she still here and not running to Dumbledore? Why had she not told anyone else about his powers? She knew he was dangerous. Why did she protect him like she was doing now?

She looked at him, a blink finally releasing a tear. "I just do."

She wanted to say more. She wanted to say that it was because he made her feel different from what Ron made her feel. She wanted to say that he made her laugh in ways that her best friends couldn't. She wanted to say that he intrigued her. She wanted to tell him that she liked him and she was worried about him and that she wished he would give up serving Voldemort and be with her. She wanted to say so much just to hear him say back, "I do too."

But she knew it would scare him, so she didn't. She was afraid he would turn away from her if she confessed her infatuation to him, so she didn't. She didn't want to loose him, not now. And the fear of loosing him, the fear that at the end of the school year she would confront him on the battlefield and have to kill him, tears streamed faster down her cheeks. But she didn't make a sound, until his hand reached up and began to wipe each tear away. She let out a strangle sob and quickly got up. It hurt too much; these emotions overwhelmed her.

"Don't leave," he said weakly.

She stopped, and looked at him, "Why not?"

"Because I need you here," he said. The delirious look was back in his eyes. He continued distantly, "The nightmares aren't as frequent when you're near."

"What nightmares?" she asked, curious.

"I can't tell you," he whispered. He held out his hand and she reached for it.

"Not yet anyway?" she said hopefully.

He pulled her down to him and held her to him, whispering, "Not yet anyway."

She looked up and saw his eyes closed. He looked so young, so weary as if he had labored for many nights without sleep. A sudden impulse over came her and she tilted her head up to gentle kiss the side of his cheek. Then she leaned her head under his chin and put her arm around his waist. He pulled her closer and she grinned.

_I could stay like this forever,_ she thought before fatigue took her.

:-:-:-:-:-:-:

Hermione strolled into the Great Hall, feeling rather hungry from having slept through breakfast. She walked, sitting between Ron and Ginny, and licked her lips at the scrumptious food that appeared before her. As the conversations around her tried to overwhelm her senses, she still found time to peer over to a specific table to see a specific person. Instead, her eyes caught Tony who was walking rather awkwardly to a spot on the bench, grimacing while he sat down and sending her a rather nasty glare in her direction. Startled, she looked away and locked eyes with Draco instead, a questioning look in her eyes. _I told you; if he even looks at you in a way I don't like…_

Hermione's eyes widened in recollection and she wasn't sure whether to laugh or be shocked. All she knew was that she felt rather pleased. He was protecting her. Did that mean he liked her? She secretly hoped so, but she doubted the odds of that ever becoming anything more than a hope.

"What are you smiling at, Hermione?" Ginny asked slyly. "Thinking about that Edward chap?"

"What? Edward?" she asked, startled. Ron turned his head slightly in their direction, interested in their conversation.

"Oh, don't act all surprised," chided the bright redhead. "We all know that Edward fancies you. You fancy him, don't you?"

"What? Ginny, don't be absurd," Hermione said, laughing. "I mean, I enjoy talking to him, but I don't like him in that way."

"Why not? He's a decent looking bloke, not to mention he can't stop staring at you," Ginny added, nudging her in the side. The two girls turned slowly around to look at the Ravenclaw table, and Hermione caught the final movements of Edward's eyes averting away from her and to the person across from him. She turned back around, smiling, and pretending to ignore Ginny's comment of, "I told you so!"

"I think you should go for him," Ginny remarked while biting into another roll.

"I don't know," Hermione said and then finally added after Ginny's playful nagging, "I'll think about it."

"I think you should," she said and then leaning in to whisper so that Ron's prying ears wouldn't hear, "It's time for you to get over Ron."

"Ginny, I said I'll think about it, okay," she said harshly this time. Disgruntled, she left the Great Hall. Ginny watched her go, waiting for Ron's reaction which followed rather quickly. "_What do you think you are doing_, _Ginny_?" Ron hissed.

"I don't know what you're talking about, Ron," she said casually, pretending to be oblivious to Ron's death glares.

"Why are you trying to get her to go out with someone else?" he demanded.

She raised an eyebrow, "Because he'd treat her better than you have."

"Treat her better?" he repeated in a hushed shrill. "What do you mean 'treat her better'?"

Staring straight into his eyes, Ginny answered, "He'd apologize when he knew he was wrong."

She got to her feet and left, leaving Ron to think about what she said. But she didn't have to. He knew she was right. He knew he should apologize to her. But he couldn't. She wouldn't listen. And besides, she was thinking about getting together with Edward now, wasn't she? What was the point of him apologizing if it didn't get her back?

"Not worth a damn thing," he said out loud.

"Exactly!" Seamus said enthusiastically. "That's what I told him, but he wouldn't believe me!"

While everyone was attentive to Seamus' rant, only Harry noticed Ron's preoccupied behavior. And for once, he was mad at Ginny as well. _Come on, Ginny. If you had to push any man on Hermione, couldn't it have been one with a scar on his forehead?_

:-:-:-:-:-:-:

Hermione sat in her favorite chair in the library. She never actually read when she was in the chair. She actually spent most of her time drifting off into space and contemplating her day, a book lazily resting in her hand to give off the impression that she was actually using the chair for knowledgeable purposes. The conversation with Ginny was troubling her. Why shouldn't she go for Edward? He was a nice bloke: smart, funny, kind. And he wasn't that bad looking either. True, he was younger than her, but his maturity made up for that. And besides, at least she could be seen in public with him. True, he didn't inspire the overwhelming emotions that Draco caused. He wasn't as intriguing, but Edward was safer. Draco was dangerous. Edward was sane; Draco had his moments of lunacy. She could read and understand Edward; Draco was a complete, chaotic mystery.

And that was why she liked him. She covered her face in her hands, appalled at the realization. She liked Draco Malfoy. All this time she had spent with him had shown a different side of him. The more she talked to him, the more she saw similarities that they shared, besides being Controllers. And that power he had within him, it drew her towards him. He was so poised, so suave. And yet he was her age. What gave him that sense of smooth dignity? She had never met anyone like Draco. Not to mention the fact that she found him quite attractive. And she knew they shared a connection. She had felt it in that kiss.

She knew he was in trouble, and she felt that if she could get close to him, maybe she could save him. She knew he was affiliated with Voldemort. Maybe if she got him to trust her, maybe, just maybe, she could save him. She couldn't stand the thought of him dying. Simply picturing his dead corpse made her shudder and want to cry. She laughed, "I can't believe I like him…"

"Like who?" Draco asked, stepping out from behind a bookshelf.

"What are you doing back here?" she asked, her face flushing.

"This is a public library, Hermione. Just because you've read every book in this library does not mean that you personally own them," he said, smirking and taking a book off the shelf before leafing through the pages.

She rolled her eyes. "You're such a smartass sometimes."

"Which is why you go for dumbasses like Edward?" he remarked casually. Draco sighed inwardly, _Oh, that was smooth, Draco. What are you, the jealous ex?_

"What? Me go for Edward?" she remarked incredulously.

"I saw you look at him in the Great Hall and give him that flirty look and giggle, _and_ I just heard you confess it a couple minuets ago," Draco answered smoothly, closing the book with a sharp snap. He didn't know why he was so irritated. He wished he could hide it better. Usually, he was so good at concealing his feelings. But in front of her…_She's supposed to be mine, not Edwards. Mine, and mine only!_

"Why are you getting so uptight about this?" she asked, getting out of her chair. "Why do you even care?"

"I _don't_ care," he rebuked, uncomfortable at how close she was to him.

"If you didn't, you wouldn't be making such a big deal about this," she said. She chuckled, looking up at him and watching his eyes dart around the room, trying to look at anything but her. And she wanted to tell him, she needed to tell him. "Draco, as far as your reputation precedes you, you know _nothing_ of women. I haven't told anyone about you power when I could have. I've been by your side twice when you've needed me. I've made up excuses for you when you let your powers get out of hand. I've kissed you under the fireworks, and if you knew anything about women…"

She was dangerously close. Her boldness made her take the book out of his hand and place it on the shelf, her attraction towards him made her clasp his tie in one of her hands, her absence of any coherent thought prevented her from stopping herself as she pulled his head down with his tie and whispered, "You'd be able to eavesdrop and know who she was talking about."

A sudden burst of emotion overwhelmed him and he kissed her, enjoying the return to what he had wanted for so long. He pulled away slightly to say, "So you like me, eh?"

"Just shut up and kiss me," she ordered roughly. Draco dared not disobey.

:-:-:-:-:-:-:

**A/N:** And there you go. They're finally together! Yeah for taking seventeen chapters to get to this point! Yes, I have no clue how long this fic is going to take, but now that we've reached this point, there's no need to drag things out, I suppose. Again, I've tried to make up for my long absence of updating by posting two chapters. I've gotten complaints from not updating soon enough – believe me, I know how irritating it is. I've been waiting for this one fanfic to update forever now, but I don't think she'll get around to updating it…it'd been almost a year and a half now I think… ::Scratches head::: hey, at least I'm not THAT bad, eh?

As it is, if you'd kindly share your opinions on my story, be they flames or not, I'd gladly appreciate it. I'm sure I've lost some of you from my delayed updates, but if you still are reading, I'd love to hear from you!

Anywhoo. Since I've missed holidays: Happy New Year, Happy Valentine's Day, and Happy Easter and I'm sure there a ton more but Happy (fill in whatever holiday).

Peaches!


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